


The Sunflower of Cintra

by monochromerb, RebrandedBard



Series: The Arrangement [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Angst, Communication, Duny can choke, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt and Jaskier have a hard time, Geralt goes a-wooing, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Plays the Lute, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Miscommunication, Murder, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Political Intrigue, Talking, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), The rating and content warnings are specifically for that aspect of the fic, Trauma, and now for the tags which aren't directly related to Duny and Pavetta, growing together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochromerb/pseuds/monochromerb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebrandedBard/pseuds/RebrandedBard
Summary: (Tags for underaged content are a reflection of Duny and Pavetta's relationship, tagged for courtesy of that whole uncomfortable thing.)In the first act, Geralt calls upon the Law of Surprise after getting caught up in the events of a betrothal party in Cintra. Now he and his husband Jaskier are entangled in the fates of the Cintran royal family. Political intrigue finds them at odds with Pavetta's husband, and choices are made in whispers behind closed doors concerning the coming hunt.The second act follows Geralt's attempts to court Jaskier in the traditional manner they'd missed before their marriage, and their experience raising their new daughter, Ciri. It comes to light during their courting game that, perhaps, they might have met long before their engagement. As they get to know more about one another, they come to realize their story is far more ridiculous than they ever expected it to be.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Arrangement [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966333
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5227 words.

Royal courts suited Jaskier, and he looked quite at home in the decorated, colorful halls, rubbing elbows with trailing velvet sleeves, glowing under glittering chandeliers. He looked just right, surrounded by portraits in gilded frames, walking among the galleries as if he were not some casual observer, but another piece of the collection given life. Naturally, he’d become the best and brightest, the most admired of all, the pinnacle of art in every kingdom on the Continent. The moment he’d at last chosen to play his lute for the public, the people were enamoured. His songs travelled far and wide, but despite his fame among the fairest of folk, his songs were never more at home than when sung in a humble pub.

That was where Geralt wished to be now. He was proud of Jaskier and relished in the world’s admiration of his music, but he’d rather be somewhere less confining. The magnificent royal banquet hall felt much too small, his anxieties about courtly manners locking him in a little box. They’d been travelling again.

Three years had passed since their wedding day. After the first year and the grand tour of the Continent, Geralt thought their long sessions at court would have been over, but it had only been the beginning. A grace period followed of one year. In that time, they’d done well to establish their presence in Rivia, and Geralt had been allowed to slowly take over the business involved with his position as Lord of Eskalott. The old duke still handled much of the business in Lettenhove, but he’d slowly tried to convince Jaskier to accept more responsibility in preparation for the day he would succeed and take over his duties. It was a process, but Jaskier had begun to take to it, and well. The tour had taught him a great deal and he was quite familiar with the practical aspects of Lettenhove’s export economics.

However, the grace period had ended shortly afterwards. When Jaskier started playing for the court, they’d become more than passing faces. Their story had always drawn interest, but with the addition of demands for Jaskier’s talents at balls and celebrations, people were more interested than ever. They’d more than tilted the sympathies of the courts—they’d become court favorites. They were invited not only to the estates of barons and marquis, but to the castles of kings and queens. In particular, they were beloved in Cintra.

Cintra was situated along the coast and was the last stop before their trade ships went to the open sea. The castle was so conveniently located, and the city’s markets were an important stop on every trip to mark the halfway point to Redania. Before sailing off to the familiar stomping grounds of Novigrad and Oxenfurt, it was only suitable to call upon their acquaintances and partners in Cintra, and more often than not, it was the princess Pavetta Fiona Elen of Cintra herself who sent a courier to the docks with an invitation for them, spotting their flags on the far horizon. She was a great lover of music, poetry, and quiet company. For that, she admired Jaskier’s songs and Geralt’s silent presence. She and Geralt made fine friends. If he was seated beside her, she was not forced to make conversation. It was mutually beneficial and Geralt was only too glad to take his place so perfectly, blissfully mute.

That was what had brought them to Cintra upon her fifteenth birthday. She’d requested Jaskier to play for her betrothal party, and asked that Geralt remain by her side for the night: a silent comfort. They knew little about the whole affair until the day of the banquet itself, but that evening she’d confided in them the truth. It was a reluctant arrangement: a political farce. Among the suitors, Queen Calanthe had already chosen a match for her, a man called Crach an Craite, to unite Cintra and Skellige. It was a situation they knew quite well, but there was no destiny to lend her a hand to guide her to a happy end. The man she loved was not secretly this match forced upon her, but a knight she’d courted by name of Duny.

It was a miserable affair, and she kept Geralt close as a buffer between herself and the queen for much of the night, refusing to mingle in the festivities. She watched silently on as the unwitting, hopeful suitors brought themselves forward one by one for their introductions. It was all dignified, wasted, and tragic. Geralt and Jaskier kept exchanging glances. But what could be done? Nothing. So they watched on in silent sympathy until there arrived a masked knight to claim the Law of Surprise and ask for Pavetta’s promised hand.

Unmasked, they all saw his face and the evidence of a curse upon him. Calanthe ordered his death. Geralt caught Pavetta’s eye and rose at once. Upon his back he kept the same two swords he’d carried throughout the years. Jaskier would brandish them as he told their love story and they made a fine prop—and Geralt was glad of the excuse to keep them always on hand. Now he leapt over the table, both swords drawn to defend love, urged by the young princess’ pleas.

The night had ended quickly afterwards, all in a terrible rush of activity. From swords and daggers and lances, the fight turned to magic and shrieks in dormant Elder. The flash of Geralt’s silver blade caught the eye of the princess, distracting her from the power which possessed her so wholly, and he cried out to her, the strange spell breaking its hold.

Geralt remembered very little and did not hear the queen as she relented to conduct their ceremony in the flustered hall. He’d been too busy trying to find Jaskier again, to see how he fared after the magical mishap had blasted the audience away. He’d turned up alright, brandishing his beloved lute against the fray. Geralt had been too far from his reach to offer him a sword when the fighting broke out. Upon the union of the young couple, the curse had been broken. Geralt had registered none of it in his relief of finding Jaskier perfectly safe, nobly defending another guest from the skirmish. It was not until Duny called out to him that he remembered their circumstances, then all eyes were upon him as Duny spoke.

“You saved my life. I must repay you.”

Geralt turned from his escape, having hoped to make a quiet exit. He shook his head, attempting to dismiss him. “You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if to say that ended things. “I want nothing.” He turned once more in another futile attempt to leave.

“No, please.” Duny insisted, stopping him in his step. “Please, Geralt of Rivia, do not feel like you’re doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt.”

Geralt gave a twitch of a smile, more of a resigned grimace. “Fine. I … ” his eyes were to the floor as he tried to think of something to say, his mind still reeling from it all. He was used to deals and negotiations made after weeks of study, all tables and chairs and charts. He was used to time. This man before him demanded an answer, immediate and sure. Geralt could give no answer that met either requirement. Instead, he asked the first thing that came to mind.

_I …_

“… claim the same tradition as you have,” he said quickly. “The Law of Surprise. Give me that which you already have but do not know.” A new horse born in the stables, a pup from the litter in the kitchen cupboard, a button or coin or watch found in a forgotten pocket, a fine new sword meant as an engagement gift not yet given, a crop that flourished back home on his property. A mug of beer poured and waiting at his place at the table. He turned a third time, having no intention of receiving the gift, whatever it may be.

Then the princess did something Geralt was all too familiar with and emptied her stomach on the banquet floor, though for a _very_ different reason than Geralt’s nerves would ever compel. All present turned from Pavetta to Geralt in shock. Geralt looked between Jaskier and Eist, the meaning settling in slowly.

“Fuck.”

At last, with no one bearing the presence of mind to stop him, he walked from the scene, retrieving his lost steel sword on his way out of the hall. Walking hastened, the gravity of the seriousness of his claim put his stomach in his boots. He began to jog, then to sprint. Then, Geralt was running through the halls in a blind panic.

Jaskier was caught in the shock of the rest of the hall for a long moment before he cut through the silence. “We’ll settle this, I promise—this wasn’t his intention,” he insisted quickly before pulling his lute onto his back and chasing after Geralt through the halls. The halls wound and branched off in odd patterns but Geralt was easy enough to chase.

“Geralt, stop—we’ll figure this out, I promise. Just talk to me!” he called. He took a moment to adjust his lute so it wouldn’t slip as he gave chase.

But Geralt couldn’t talk. Three sentences and he’d fucked up royally. No, there was no talking his way out of this mess. He needed to run. His nerves were on fire and he was full of anxious energy. The receding adrenaline from the fight had sprung up anew and he wouldn’t stop for love or money. He ran on, looking for someplace quiet, or perhaps for the guards’ training equipment. He could use a dummy to slice through or a track to circle over and over. Perhaps he’d find a well to scream into along the way.

Jaskier’s sigh echoed through the hall as he hurried off once more in an attempt to catch up with Geralt before he got his horse and fled. “Darling, please!” Jaskier called out again as he picked up his pace.

Geralt shook his head. “Not now, Jaskier!” he bellowed. His feet had carried him to the guest wing. He shoved his way through the door which housed their room and set to pacing the rug. What did he need, what did he _need!_ A ride? A quiet hour curled up under the sheets? He needed something, but he could find no answers. At the moment, any answers he chose would all be wrong. He would rather not choose.

That reaction gave the duke a moment’s pause before he opened their door. “Geralt, we don’t have to talk about this, but I can’t just leave you alone,” he said as he stepped in and set aside his lute.

“Not _now,_ ” Geralt repeated sternly. He turned his back to Jaskier, looking out the window at the dark night beyond. The moon was hidden somewhere in the clouds. Oil lamps lit up the courtyard and the halls, their lights flickering, winking back at him. On another night he might stop to appreciate the quietude, but he could see none of it. He braced his arms on the edge of the window and raked his fingers through his hair. For just a moment, he tried to stand still and breathe, but his restlessness was tugging at him, bidding him to move again.

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and he made his way over to his husband. He had the demeanor of a frustrated cat, and the glare to match. Not that Geralt would know. “Darling,” he set his hand on Geralt’s shoulder gently before making a choice and pulling his blade free from its sheath. “If you won’t give me your attention, you’ve left me no choice but to steal it,” he huffed as he took a step away.

Geralt whipped around at the sound of the sword sliding free of the leather. The steel was still in his hand. He raised it instinctively as he jerked away, surprised by Jaskier’s sudden threat. “What are you doing?” he asked, staring at him in shock. “Put that down.”

“Make me,” Jaskier huffed as his foot slid back into a fighting stance. “I can’t leave your thoughts racing for too long, otherwise I’m afraid you might lose them all together.”

Frankly, Geralt _had_ lost them in favor of trying to understand Jaskier’s sudden shift. “You … Jaskier, I can’t fight you; not with steel against sliver. A hit with the edge of the blade and it would chip! That’s for monster hunting, not fencing!”

“Well then you best be careful,” Jaskier huffed before lunging forwards at him. It wasn’t a perfect solution, too many questions still hung in the air for Jaskier to forget them all together, but pulling Geralt away from them was more than enough for him right now.

Geralt’s eyes went wide and he turned the blade so Jaskier’s would connect with the flat of it, protecting both himself and the sword from damage. He gasped as the strength of the blow drove his arm away, put him on the defensive. He leapt from the window, back toward the center of the room, dodging Jaskier as he went. There was something extremely enticing about his advances—the power in his form and concentration—and Geralt’s heart picked up.

“Damn it, Jaskier! This is not the time!” he snapped. He stopped retreating and reached forward to try and wrest the sword from his hand.

“Now isn’t the time to be sulking either,” he huffed back before stepping out of his reach and walking a tight circle around him. “You aren’t thinking: you’re panicking.”

Geralt’s chest rose and fell anxiously as he watch Jaskier. He moved deliberately like a panther, ready to strike at any opening. “Of course I’m panicking,” he panted. Wary eyes tracked Jaskier’s every motion, the twitch of a finger, the lift of a brow. “I acted impulsively again, and look what’s happened. I’ve fucked up another life—one that hasn’t even been _born_ yet!”

He lashed out with his sword, desperate to do anything to break Jaskier’s form. He couldn’t stand feeling trapped.

Jaskier parried and lunged forwards again. “Geralt, we aren’t going to take the child,” he said through clenched teeth as he swatted Geralt’s side with the flat of his blade and moved past. “Relax, you show your thoughts in your blade.”

Geralt froze at the swat. “The fuck did—?” He’d landed a hit. He clenched his teeth and turned to follow Jaskier again, knuckles white on the grip. “Jaskier, you saw what happens when you deny the Law of Surprise. I can’t just say, ‘Sorry, I’ve changed my mind,’ and walk away. _He_ did the same thing and destiny put him in her path again fifteen years later.”

He lunged, falling back on the mechanical routine of Vesemir’s old teachings. “She’s _fifteen_ , Jaskier, and she’s going to have to give up her firstborn child. A child she’s too young to be having in the first place.” He advanced again, looking for an opening, but he’d become distracted once more, his movements too wide and impulsive. “This child who would be born to royalty and some unfathomable magic power. I don’t think you understand _what_ I’ve just _done.”_

“We can’t just come back in nine months and pull the child away either. Even if we are ready for a child, if she already has her own family we can’t pull her away,” Jaskier insisted as he parried and stepped back. “Calanthe would never have it. And we can’t afford Cintra as an enemy, this isn’t a black and white choice.”

“Exactly why I’m panicking! I can’t fuck up another person’s life! And we’re not—!” Geralt stopped, sword poised in the air. He gaped at Jaskier. “Did you just say you’re ready for a child?” he asked. They hadn’t talked about it in a long time. He thought they wouldn’t say another word about it until their fifth year at the very least.

“I think so,” Jaskier said softly. “We’re well settled together, and I think we’re decently prepared to handle a new addition—more time to plan would have been nice, but it seems like we won’t have the luxury of it,” he rambled as he let his blade tip lower slightly.

Then something clicked. Geralt slapped the sword from Jaskier’s hand and tossed his own carelessly aside. “Well it’s no _wonder_ the fucking Law gave us a child!” he shouted. “Oh, fuck! If we’d only taken the time to talk we—! _Argh!”_ He buried his face in his hands and groaned. The Law had known. Destiny was a crock of shit and it just _loved_ to step in where it wasn’t wanted. It had taken the perfect opportunity to strike.

“Angry is better than brooding,” Jaskier chuckled mainly to himself before he took Geralt’s hands in his and met his eyes. “We can sort through all of this, I promise, just don’t let yourself get carried away. I’m here to help with the burden,” he said as he ran his thumb along Geralt’s wedding band.

Geralt’s stomach twisted. It was a feeling both of great love and of guilt. “I never wanted you to have to take on the burden of my mistakes again,” he whispered. He’d wanted to be the one to help Jaskier through his burdens, not the other way around. Jaskier had worked too long to make up for his failings. It was too much to ask. He’d promised himself he’d never make such a large mistake again, tried so hard not to, and here, he’d made the second biggest mistake in his life. It was possibly worse than what he’d done to Jaskier. This was a child—heir to an entire kingdom—whose future he’d destroyed. And without even consulting Jaskier, who would now be caught up in his own mess once more.

“I’ll have none of that now,” Jaskier said softly as he moved to cup his cheek in hand. “This is fate, and now all we can do is follow after it, and bend it where we can. This could be blessing, I’m sure of that,” he said gently.

“Jaskier, I’m … ” _Sorry. Frightened. Confused._ He couldn’t say what he was. The dam was overflowing once more in another rare moment. He reached out for Jaskier and clung to him, pulling him close to his chest as the tears welled up in his eyes. His throat was tight. Even if he found the words, they’d never make it out. Only a quiet sob came. He didn’t deserve his comfort, but he wanted it so desperately.

Jaskier rubbed his back and relaxed in his arms. If nothing else he could give Geralt this. “It’ll be alright love, I swear to the gods, I’ll make sure it’ll be alright,” he said gently before running his hand through his hair in a motion that had become nearly second nature.

_“We’ll_ make sure,” Geralt corrected. Even as the tears slipped over the back of Jaskier’s doublet, he would not let him try and do things on his own. Never again.

“Do you remember our first days in Eskalott? I was stressed to pieces and ran off. We spent time along the lakeside, enjoying the quiet and relaxing.” He remembered as he continued with his soothing. “We could always go for a moon lit ride? Find some space, take a break from the castle and court?”

Geralt did remember. He nodded, squeezing Jaskier tighter. “It’s cloudy,” he argued. More than anything, he was afraid to call for their horses. Would the guards chase them? Would they be allowed to leave the castle before everything was sorted? Even now, he flinched at a noise in the hall, fearful that the guards were coming to haul them to some cell, or worse: a private audience with Queen Calanthe. He wanted to burrow up and hide somewhere until things settled.

“A walk maybe?” Jaskier offered instead before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we could hide in here for a while.”

“I can’t … make any decisions right now,” Geralt said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Jaskier could feel his body trembling against him. He was still reeling from the last stupid decision he’d made. He likely wouldn’t be able to pick what he wanted to eat for _breakfast_ if the choice was given to him in the morning. Assuming he hadn’t been executed before then.

Jaskier nodded a bit and moved from his arms. "Let’s stay in then," he said, going over to their bed and pulling some blankets away. He laid them out in front of the fireplace and glanced back to his husband. "Come on love, just try to relax for me?"

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He nodded, then sat down at his side. “Talk to me,” he pleaded. “About anything. Anything _else.”_

"I'm thinking about reorganizing the gardens again and trying to get more of the wildflowers to grow along the roads. It'll be nice to see them in the summers, the colors and smell alone will be worth the work," he obliged as he started to open his doublet so he could unwind.

Geralt’s eyes flickered over to him and he followed suit, unlacing his boots. “What will you do this time? Add a few new trellises, dig a pond somewhere?” A pond was a bit silly considering how close they were to the lake, but it would be nice. You couldn’t watch fish swimming in the deeper waters, and they might grow lilies.

"I'm thinking about adding a small seating area in the center of the maze, and more flowers, but a pond might be nice," Jaskier teased. "Maybe we'll have some water lilies there as well."

Geralt managed a single chuckle. They really had settled together nicely. Jaskier nearly always seemed to know what he was thinking. “What kind of flowers?”

"Dahlias or sunflowers. Something large like that, mixed in with ground cover. I need to plan it out a little more before I can make a choice," he hummed before kicking off his boots as well.

Geralt lay down, his head in Jaskier’s lap. He stared into the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and dance until there were spots in his eyes. He closed them against the light with a sigh.

“Dahlias look weird. Sunflowers are better, and you can harvest the seeds,” he said, his mind defaulting to economics as it always did where additions to the estate were concerned. “Sunflowers would grow better. They’ll bring in more butterflies and birds.” Birds would help take care of small garden pests, and he knew Vesemir and Eskel liked butterflies. Jaskier liked birdsong in the early morning hours.

"Maybe we'll plant butterfly bushes under some of the windows so we can watch them if they decide to stop by," Jaskier offered as he ran his hands through Geralt's hair again. "And I think dahlias are pretty."

Geralt leaned into his touch. “Plant them with the butterfly bushes then. Sunflowers would grow tall enough to get the sunlight they need in the labyrinth; dahlias would not.”

"Fair enough," he chuckled softly. "And maybe this year we can host a ball? At midsummer so we can celebrate outside."

Geralt thought quietly, calculating in his head. They’d had a substantially raised income the last two years—the funds were no trouble. It was all a matter of timing, if Jaskier meant for his flowers to be in bloom by summer. “I think we can arrange that,” he said, opening his eyes to look up at him.

Jaskier grinned back at him. "Wonderful, now I can finally live out my dream of dancing through our gardens with a full band around us, instead of just whatever I could think to hum," he chuckled.

“We could always ask the town band to come play for us, you know. I’m sure they’d appreciate the business.” More than the business, they’d appreciate the chance to play with Jaskier whenever possible. Just as Geralt had been longtime friends with the townspeople, Jaskier had carved his own niche with the musicians and pub-goers.

"We should do that too; they usually enjoy playing at most events that we host," Jaskier agreed. He gently untied the ribbon from Geralt's hair, unwinding the braid.

“I meant just for us, when you want to dance with me in the garden,” he said with a teasing smile. “You don’t need to host a grand event just to have an excuse to dance with me to musical accompaniment.”

"Oh, I know what you meant love," Jaskier teased as he fiddled with the length of ribbon. "Is this a new ribbon? I don't remember seeing it before."

Geralt cocked his head to the side. “You wanted me to dress up for this event, didn’t you? I didn’t have anything in silver, so I had to get something new. You like it when we match.”

"I do," Jaskier chuckled before he set aside the ribbon. "It makes us look like a matched pair. And it gives me more of an excuse to get you dressed up."

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Mousesack said I looked like a sad silk trader,” he grumbled. “The saddest part is, he’s partially right. We’ve recently acquired a new contract with a silk merchant in Skellige; I meant to tell you at the next monthly briefing with Vesemir. He sent some nice samples to close the deal, I hear. I met him during negotiations and I’d swear he wore the same material for his coat.”

"To be fair, that's more your fault than mine. I would have dressed you up more if you would have let me," he teased. He kissed Geralt’s forehead. "I'll have one of the samples made into a new tunic for you to wear in our next talk with Skellige."

“That’ll make the right impression. As for dressing up, I thought this was just another ball. I didn’t intend to dress up for Pavetta of all people. She loathes these events as much as I do, if not more.” Then he winced. They’d talked themselves back around to the same topic. He closed his eyes, the hand resting on his chest bunching at his shirt. “That poor girl,” he muttered. She’d been through such a lot that evening.

“I know, she deserved better than this,” Jaskier said gently. “She’s always been a sweet girl, and an engagement so early on was destined to be trouble,” he added before he shrugged off his doublet entirely.

“And I thought _our_ first engagement was trouble,” Geralt scoffed. Her rolled over to wrap his arms around Jaskier’s waist, tucking his head against his side. “I’m glad she found love, that it worked out so quickly, but … she’s still a child. She’s _with_ child.”

“I know,” Jaskier agreed gently. “I wish I could find a brighter view of her situation, she has love at the very least.”

Geralt peeked out. He nodded. “She has love,” he murmured. He would appraise her match tomorrow in the light of morning—for the moment, he remained nothing but a blur in his mind. Pavetta had love, but would _they_ lose what love she had for them to this consequence of the Law? For a time, he thought of her like a niece, some distant relative perhaps. She reminded him of his mother: the same ashen hair and emerald eyes. Perhaps that was why the Law had done it: to make them family in a more concrete way. But destiny had not taken into account the repercussions.

“I’m ready to talk now,” Geralt said.

“Do you mind if I lay down first?” Jaskier asked gently. Having Geralt in his lap was one thing, but being against his husband’s chest was another thing entirely.

Geralt moved aside and opened up his arms in response.

Jaskier settled himself in his arms and kissed his jaw as he got comfortable. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he prompted quietly.

“What else?” Geralt grumbled. His eyes fell to the side, then flicked back to meet Jaskier’s. “The child. If this happens, I want to stay close with them as long as possible, make it easier. Pavetta won’t mind if … It’s possible to share the care of a child. Calanthe may throw her fits or try to execute us”—really, to execute _him_ , he thought—“but there are ways to obey the Law without bringing everything crumbling down around us. At least, I think there may be.”

“And maybe when they get old enough they can split their time between Eskalott and Cintra as they’d please,” Jaskier offered with a slight smile. “It won’t be the most conventional childhood, but I’m certain we’ll be able to work it out. Besides, four loving parents are far better than just two.”

“We could take Pavetta with us, give her a break from Calanthe,” he joked. It’d be a nightmare, working out the details of how to host royalty, especially for an extended period of time. Who knew what enemies Cintra had made tonight with the horseshow banquet, all the eligible princes arriving to present themselves to an already engaged princess. There was always the hope that enough of them cowed before destiny to long for retribution.

“As kind as that would be, I’d prefer to keep Eskalott free of hundreds of Cintran guards,” Jaskier hummed as he snuggled closer to Geralt.

Geralt grunted, conceding on this point. “The child will be third in line for the throne. Even if we brought them to Eskalott alone, Calanthe would send guards. The world would know.”

“I could handle a few, just not a whole city’s worth. Pavetta is Calanthe’s biggest source of pride after all.”

“Pride.” Geralt chuckled. It was an unexpected pun. “The Lioness of Cintra and her _pride._ Pavetta, her cub, is having a cub of her own, a new addition—the _source_ of the pride.” It was such a stupid joke, but it relieved some of the tension.

Jaskier chuckled softly. _“The Pride of Cintra_ would be an impeccable title for a ballad,” he noted.

“Do you really mean to make this evening’s events into a song? I heard your comment earlier. What was it? ‘This has the makings of my greatest ballad yet,’ you said? And I thought your greatest ballad was the one you composed about _our_ story.”

“My greatest ballad may be the one about us, but this one still has the makings for something wonderful,” Jaskier insisted with a little smile. “Nothing could ever overtake that song in my heart.”

“I can think of one thing.” Geralt kissed the bridge of his nose sweetly. “But don’t name it _The Pride_. It doesn’t fit just right; their pack isn’t big enough to be a full pride. Give it some time and thought, find something better.”

“Well, we still have to figure out how all of it ends before I start writing,” he teased gently.

Geralt sighed. “I’m afraid to find that part out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to condemn Ye Olde underage relationships from our vantage point in history. And so we do! Whole-heartedly! Pavetta only just turned 15 at the banquet, and she was pregnant already. Duny groomed a 14 year old. So we've decided to address that and also throw the events of canon and Nilfgaard out the window. Law of Surprise redemption arc through Geralt and Jaskier actually being PARENTS to their LoS kid.
> 
> The little oneshot idea we had for Jaskier and Geralt acquiring baby Ciri turned into a full-blown sequel. Our bad lol. There was just too much to explore.


	2. Chapter 2

Even confronting Drache Dagger had been less of a threat to Geralt than facing the full wrath of Calanthe from across the room. When the guard made him sit as close as from across the table, the intensity of her glare made a cold sweat break out on the skin of his back, which he assumed would be flayed in an hour’s time or less. He silently prayed to gods which he’d never prayed to before in his life that her ire would not extend onto Jaskier.

Pavetta sat at her side, Duny next over. On her right was Eist, and Mousesack beside him. The five sat across, and he in the middle on the barren side. He felt quite small, bracketed by guards posted at the door, very near, with their reaching lances at the ready. His heart was beating rapidly like a mouse caught in a corner. Were his hair not white from birth, it would have been streaked with it overnight. It was still night now, and he’d been summoned after private deliberations behind closed doors some hours after the dissolution of the party, roused from an anxious sleep by the guards and pulled from Jaskier’s unconscious arms.

He sat alone before the jury, awaiting his sentence in silent dread.

Calanthe drummed her fingers on the table as she stared Geralt down. She looked quite a bit like her namesake: a true lioness glaring down its prey. She let him fester in his dread for a long moment before breaking the silence in the room.

“Did you know when you invoked the Law, or were you fool enough to invoke it even after watching the consequences unfold before your very eyes?” she asked coldly, never breaking eye contact with him.

“I didn’t know,” Geralt answered fleetingly. “If I’d known it wouldn’t have been Surprise. We wouldn’t be here.”

She seemed to relax ever so slightly at that. “Do you intend to claim the child then?” she asked again. “My daughter’s firstborn, and rightful heir to Cintra.”

Geralt bit his tongue. His eyes drifted down to her nose, unable to look her directly in the eye. He felt cold, but if he trembled, that would never be excuse enough. His throat was dry and the answer grated against it as he forced the words out. “There would be consequences … if I did not,” he said.

“There will be harsher ones if you do,” she growled back at him. “I’ve lost one child to the law, I don’t intend to lose another.”

Geralt looked toward Pavetta, still at her side. Privately, he thought that Calanthe would have lost her tonight to another marriage: one brought about by her own devices. He had the sense not to voice such thoughts aloud.

“There are ways to claim the child without taking it away,” he replied. “I would not take a child from a family. I would not disrupt the order of a nation.”

“What is your plan then? It looks like you’re stealing an heir because you can’t have one on your own,” she said bluntly.

Eist shifted his focus for a moment to watch Calanthe instead of the earl. His brow was creased ever so slightly and he seemed to be just as uncertain as Geralt of her next move.

For an instant, Geralt’s fears were forgotten. A flash of anger ran through him and he turned his eyes upon her once more, glaring back. His top lip twitched in a snarl. His hands fisted in his lap. “There are plenty of ways to have an heir without resorting to something as desperate as _cradle robbing,”_ he said, words seething out through gritted teeth. He grew steadily louder as his anger overtook him. “Surrogates, orphans of my own country, some ward from a distant, overburdened relation. There’s _magic_ , lest we forget what brought us to this moment. I didn’t plan this. That isn’t the way the Law works!”

Calanthe glared back at him. “Watch your tone, earl, before I make you,” she snapped. “I guess you’re simply a lucky idiot. I have no intention of allowing this child to be whisked away to your weak pair of nations. It’s like asking for them to be stolen away or killed, especially seeing as Lyria and Rivia can hardly go fifty years without breaking out into wars again. Not to mention the constant border squabbles, and the dangers of sending a child alone to another nation.”

The muscle in Geralt’s jaw jumped as he swallowed another impulsive response. “Those squabbles have been settled. There won’t be trouble for another generation if all goes well. I don’t mean to inflate the importance of my own rank, but my marriage with the young duke has made the current alliance stronger. The trade between nations thrives, the nobility is satisfied, and there is little cause for a skirmish. Small estates effect larger ones in large ways. If they did not, you would not need concern yourself with any threat they might pose.”

Insulting him was one thing; it was another to slander his country—his _husband’s_ country. Though their history was rife with conflict, the newest generation was peaceable. As long as the countries prospered and there was no great insult between them, all would be well.

Calanthe grit her teeth for a moment before rising to her feet and resting her hands on the table. “This child will be nobility, and your estates would hardly be able to provide what they would need to be raised as a leader over an entire kingdom. A trade route and a few larger regions of sparse northern kingdoms are hardly comparable. And you’ve yet to take over rule of Lettenhove—you aren’t fit to raise this child.”

The door at Geralt’s back creaked open and Jaskier stormed in with a guard trailing behind him and a dagger in hand. He was wearing one of Geralt’s shirts, and looked like he’d woken up moments ago. Rage was clear in his eyes and he held the dagger up in warning as the guard behind him tried to stop him again.

“Sorry I’m late, love. I had some trouble finding my way here,” he said coldly as he sat at Geralt’s side. He stuck the knife into the table before him.

Geralt stared at the knife, then looked up at Jaskier. He was both horrified by his brazen lack of manners and wildly impressed. “Jaskier …” he breathed. “Why are you—?”

“Why wasn’t I brought along in the first place?” he countered quickly before turning back to the opposition. “Where did we leave off?”

Calanthe was speechless for a moment before she collected her thoughts. “We were discussing how quickly you’ll be leaving my kingdom.”

Geralt’s head snapped back toward her. “Your Highne—"

Two voices cried out in unison, drowning out Geralt’s protest.

“Your Highness.”

“Mother.”

All eyes turned toward Duny and Pavetta.

Duny stood now, his young wife’s hand in his. He looked from Geralt toward the queen. “We can’t force them to leave,” he said.

“We can actually, it’s my kingdom,” she snapped back at him. Her control seemed to be slipping through her fingers the more she spoke. “I could kill them if I please; that knife alone is a qualifying threat.”

Duny stared resolutely back. “You may have the authority, but you do not have the right to do as you please on this matter. It rests with Geralt of Rivia in accordance with the Law of Surprise. If we try to force his hand, the Law will bear down on us and the kingdom. You were in the banquet hall tonight. You know the truth.”

“I won’t let fate steal another child from Cintra,” she snarled.

Jaskier couldn’t help himself in that moment and spoke up. “It’s a gift actually; one we are weary of. Law or not, a child takes a lot of planning and work, and we’ll look forward to discussing that with you in the coming months.”

Geralt gaped at him. _“Jaskier,”_ he whispered in warning, leaning closer. "We haven’t gotten to that particular point of discussion yet." He was still primarily concerned with preserving his head before he could even think about arguing over the child itself. Jaskier’s boldness was a never ending source of astonishment.

Jaskier held Geralt’s hand under the table. “Trust me.”

Calanthe sat back down stiffly and turned to Pavetta. “You don’t need to go through with this, I don’t care what your husband has to say about it. This is your child,” she insisted gently. “In the end this is your choice—I can’t control you anymore. After tonight I can’t hold on to you any longer.”

Pavetta reached for her mother’s arm. “I wish you would,” she said. “Mother, you aren’t losing me. You don’t lose a child to marriage. You talk as if I’m never to see you again, and I mean to see you as often as possible. Duny would never keep me from you.” She turned to glance at him with a hesitant smile.

Duny nodded. “This isn’t a loss of family, Your Highness; it is only an addition.”

“And I think it might be the same for them,” Pavetta added. She looked at Geralt, her expression one of fondness. “I know you. I know you would not try to take anything from me. If I asked, you would cut your hand for me if it would spare me a pain of any kind. You are like my own dear father in that regard.”

Geralt looked at Eist, then cast his eyes down upon the table. He wondered if she meant the old or the coming, for heh had seen the way Eist and the queen looked at one another in stolen moments. Regardless, he nodded.

“We understand it is a lot to ask,” Jaskier said. “And we wish to find a compromise between our houses. We would never steal a child away from you; you’ve always been dear to us, Pavetta.”

Eist sighed softly. “The pair has never wronged us and fate drew them to the child, we can’t reasonably deny them this.”

“I don’t mean to,” Pavetta answered.

Geralt’s head shot up. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand unconsciously.

Calanthe grit her teeth but leaned back in her seat and nodded along. “Fine. _Fine._ But we will be discussing this in detail.”

A tension that hung low about the room lifted. The change in the air was palatable.

Pavetta smiled at Geralt. “You said before that there were other ways to claim the child.”

Geralt blinked. “I … yes. Without taking it away.”

“Would you tell me?”

Geralt glanced nervously at Calanthe before speaking. “We could be godfathers … of a sort. The child would remain here, in Cintra, but we might help oversee their care in the early months. Give them holidays. Presents … that sort of thing.”

“We’ll also be sure to visit often, and have a place in the child’s life, even if they aren’t our own,” Jaskier said gently as he settled into his chair. “But it’s horribly late, and this will be a far more productive conversation once we all have some time to rest and clear our thoughts.”

Eist nodded a bit and pushed his chair out before offering his hand to Calanthe. “We should turn in for the night.”

It was then that Mousesack finally spoke, having been quiet so long, his presence was nearly forgotten. “I shall act as mediator,” he volunteered. “I shall commute between the kingdoms to ensure all is well. I’ll be watchman and advisor when the time comes.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and stood up as well. “Your presence will be invaluable to the success of this endeavor,” he said gratefully before yanking his blade free and holding his hand out to Geralt.

Calanthe took Eist’s hand and moved to join him. “We’ll begin this discussion over breakfast, and you’ll extend your stay for a week.”

“And you’ll be paying for that table,” Mousesack said, as if the table hadn’t been stabbed a thousand times and marked with the edge of one of Calanthe’s knives. There was a hint of humour in his voice, but whether or not he truly meant it in jest, not even Pavetta could say.

Geralt promised regardless. “I know a fine carpenter who would be more than happy to see to it,” he said with a secretive smile. With a last look over his shoulder, he tugged Jaskier along, relief washing over him as they slipped into the hall, no guards in pursuit behind—no Calanthe, sword raised to strike their heads.

Jaskier stepped closer to Geralt’s side as they walked and yawned softly. “I almost killed a guard to get in there,” he mumbled as exhaustion settled in once more. “You should have dragged me along in the first place.”

“I was a little busy having my hands pulled behind my back.” He could have fought them off easily, but he’d rather not have angered Calanthe further at the time. “I would’ve liked to see that: you, fighting a guard, threatening them for my location. I’m a hot under the collar imagining it.”

“I did have my knife to his throat if that intrigues you,” Jaskier teased back before kissing his cheek gently. “I’m just glad that worked.”

Geralt lifted a brow. Now that _was_ something he’d like to see. “I had you that worried, did I?”

“Calanthe is ruthless. I was concerned and they wouldn’t let me in,” Jaskier insisted.

“Knowing you,” Geralt said with a smirk, “It wouldn’t be a matter of being _let.”_

“They tried to keep me out,” he amended. “Oh, and I borrowed your dagger. Do you want it now or later?”

“Keep it. It’s your dagger now.” He leaned in close to Jaskier’s ear. “And I’d definitely like it later,” he whispered suggestively.

Jaskier bit his lip and led him the rest of the way to their room with a faint blush on his cheeks. “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbled before pulling him into their quarters.

Geralt closed the door behind them, locking it for extra measure. Not that he expected any further interruptions that night. Not that a locked door would pose a problem for anyone trying to enter with a key on their belt. He leaned back against the door and his hands found their way onto Jaskier’s hips to stop him moving away. Slowly, they trailed up to Jaskier’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s chest and pulled him back to rest against him, breathing into his hair with a relaxed sigh.

“Thank you for coming for me,” he said.

“I wouldn’t dare leave you,” he replied as he settled against him and took a deep breath. “I love you too much to let you get fed to lions.”

“It was better once you came. If not for you, I might have escalated things. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for a polite talk.”

“Darling, I’ve always been better suited for politics—it’s in my nature, and Calanthe requires an … interesting approach.”

“I wonder if that was her scheme, getting me alone, away from you so I could flounder and give her cause to retaliate. I wouldn’t put it past her.” Geralt hooked his chin over Jaskier’s shoulder. “How I functioned without you all those years I’ll never know.”

“Poorly mostly,” he teased gently before running his hand back through his hair. “Why don’t we get you into bed? We need the rest,” he said as he stepped away a bit.

Geralt followed him, tugging off his shirt as he did. He was glad he’d fallen asleep in his clothes before, too tired to undress by the fire. He couldn’t imagine how much worse the meeting would have been had Calanthe marched him bare through the halls to the meeting. He especially did not want to expose himself to poor Pavetta, but Calanthe was one for a power play. Mousesack would remind him of it constantly. So when he undressed he left his smalls on, just in case.

“I still think the success of the meeting is mostly owed to Pavetta. You were too quick,” Geralt argued as he crawled under the bedsheets.

“Pavetta and her husband did save us in the long run,” he agreed as he followed him into bed and settled at his side. “Without them I doubt we would still be allowed in Cintra.”

“Without them, we wouldn’t be allowed in this _bed_ with our heads intact.”

“You’re right, of course. They saved our lives,” he mumbled against him.

Geralt chuckled and pulled an arm around him, closing his eyes. “Too bad we can’t offer them the child back by Law of Surprise. Cat’s out of the bag and all.”

“It’s a little selfish, but I’m not sure I’d want to give up our child of fate in the first place,” he said gently.

Geralt’s eyes flew open. He turned his head to look at him. Then he looked up at the ceiling, clearing his throat. He was silent a moment, then he spoke again, quietly. “It’s … a little exciting, if you stop thinking of the rest enough to indulge in the idea.” He squeezed Jaskier closer. “In a handful of months we might have a child.”

Jaskier nodded and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Our first child. We might have to declare a new holiday in Eskalott.”

“Her birthday,” Geralt whispered. “It’ll be celebrated throughout the province.”

“You’ve always imagined a daughter, ever since our wedding,” he teased back warmly.

Geralt flushed. “I’ve just always thought having a daughter would be nice. And Roach likes little girls best. They braid her hair and sneak her treats, like you. On my trips to the country, I liked to listen to them sing when they played their games. Have you ever noticed them singing wherever we pass through? There’s always a girl somewhere, singing something. And it sounds nice. I hope she’ll sing, even if it isn’t good singing.”

“I’ll give her music lessons; you may plan to have her in the saddle as soon as she can sit up, but I plan to make sure she finds a certain fondness in music,” he hummed.

Geralt smiled and kissed his cheek. “If you sing to her, there’s no doubt in my mind she’ll come to love music. She’ll sing before she can talk, and she’ll ride before she can walk!” Something told him deep in his bones that his hopes were true. Destiny would see to it. Though destiny was a twisted thing, it had given him his greatest happiness in Jaskier, and he could hope now that it would be kind in this.

“We’ll talk about her being on Roach when she’s actually born, love, and even then I’d prefer that she speak full sentences before you let her ride alone.”

“I don’t speak full sentences and I ride fine,” Geralt joked with a hearty chuckle.

“That was a full sentence,” he teased before stealing a kiss again.

“I’m not riding anything at the moment,” he replied, grinning against his lips.

“You spoke full sentences during many of our riding dates,” he added as he flopped back into his chest.

“Hm. Had to impress you somehow.”

“You did, although it was more your sweetness that did that.”

Geralt huffed. “You and my sweetness. It’s a wonder you still have teeth.” He put a finger to Jaskier’s lips. “Now shush; it’s much too late to be so talkative. We’ll be up early again in a few hours for another dreadful discussion.”

“I love you,” he mumbled one last time as he snuggled up with him once more.

Geralt kissed his forehead and tugged the covers higher. “Goodnight, Julian.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7281

Pavetta’s presence was a blessing at the next meeting. Surprisingly, she took charge of the discussion, laying out the plans as fitted her best without being overshadowed by the queen and jarl. Her authoritative stance showed a power and wisdom beyond her years, and even Calanthe was visibly impressed by her determination to maintain command of the room.

She asked that Jaskier and Geralt return home until the time neared for the arrival of the baby so that things might be ready at home when the time came. They would arrive with two months to spare. During that time, Calanthe would teach them what she deemed indisputably necessary for the raising of a child of royalty. Eist had some confidence where Jaskier was concerned that he might teach the child courtly manners well in keeping with his rank, there being not a vast difference between dukes and princes—and therefore princesses—but Calanthe eyed Geralt with doubt.

Mousesack accompanied them on the journey home to Eskalott to ensure that everything was made ready to their standards. He and Vesemir spent a lot of time together in the nursery arguing over this and that, all the little things, and Geralt did his best to avoid the room entirely, anxious to stay out of their bickering. However, things cooled between them after the first month and they became friendly once more. They’d known each other at court, and though they had differences in opinion about whether a rocking cradle was a danger or not, they generally got on well.

Calanthe had sent Geralt home with a number of books about Cintran history, geography, economics, customs, and politics, all marked in detail by her own pen. Included were scrolls he was meant to study specifically on their family’s royal upbringing. He was meant to send a letter every two weeks with his progress, and Mousesack would verify his work was his own. When letter days came, he was to be found locked in his study with Mousesack, and in the late afternoon he would seek out Jaskier and lay with him for an hour or two, exhausted. It was as if Calanthe herself were hanging over his shoulder while he wrote.

The next day, Geralt would always be in his workshop. Over the years, this workshop had developed from an unused storage room. They’d done some cleaning and clearing out when Jaskier first arrived. He’d wanted a study of his own, though he liked to compose best at Geralt’s side. They’d easily made an office for him from one of the many empty guest rooms, and found the old storage along the way.

Jaskier had delighted in rummaging through everything, dusting off old memories and asking Geralt for the stories behind the things he found. In particular, he’d laughed at an old portrait of Geralt as a small boy—he really _did_ look every inch of him a cantankerous old man. Geralt had been twelve when it was painted. Despite his attempts to have it burned or thrown in a lake, Jaskier had taken the portrait and hung it in his office where Geralt had no authority to have it taken away, and he was made to swear not to endeavor to again. “On pain of a gruesome death,” Jaskier said with a wink.

Along their tour, Geralt had stopped to pay a visit to the old farmer as promised. They laughed over his mediocre carpentry and Geralt hired someone to patch the roof proper in his place. They’d stayed a week, and Geralt took Jaskier to visit many of the families, including the home of the woman who’d given him his treasure box. When she’d heard what the farmer had to say about his patching, she’d offered to show him her workshop. Geralt spent the rest of the day studying with her and she walked him through a simple workshop. Now and then, he held up his work for her to admire, and when she nodded with approval, he’d held it high for Jaskier to see, eyes shining. That was the day Geralt truly fell for the craft, and he was determined to learn it. He made good on his promise to keep up, and in a year’s time, he’d sent her a beautifully carved chest in thanks. To the farmer, he’d send a decorative post carved with pear blossoms and, of all things, a rooster. The rooster had been caught and eaten by a wild dog sometime in the autumn, and though it had been a nuisance, Geralt felt the little barn would not be the same without it. Roach did not share his sympathies, munching indifferently when he read her the letter bearing the news.

As the months passed, Geralt spend more and more time holed up in the workshop. Jaskier came to play for him and chat as he worked. He watched as Geralt worked on a grand table, his three years of intense study and practice come to fruition. He spent days carving the trim with attractive braiding. Jaskier was especially fond of the flowers that decorated the corners: sunflowers and honeysuckle, the vines winding down to lion’s paws at the base of the legs. Of course, there can be no woodwork without a bit of bloodshed. Geralt cut his fingers several times in the process, and once he’d managed to stain one of the paws with a smear of blood.

“She’ll like that, Calanthe,” he said, pointing to the spot with a grim chuckle. “I think it suits her.” He left the streak when the time came to oil and seal the wood. It served as a sort of signature, and it was fitting for the halls of the castle of Cintra.

But Geralt was not finished. The very next day, he’d begun a new project, and admittedly, Jaskier found himself irked, put off by the lack of attention. Geralt had already spent a great deal of time holed up in his workshop. What else could he possibly be working on?

Jaskier let himself into the workshop unannounced with his lute in hand and he quickly took a seat upon an unoccupied sawhorse. He looked over at what Geralt was making and raised a brow as he tried to sort through the mess of poles and carvings.

“What are you making, love?” he asked as he started to tune the instrument.

“A cradle,” Geralt answered. He blew the wood curls off the current pole and examined it before falling back to work. “Honeysuckle on the poles to match the table legs. I’ll be putting sunflowers on the headpiece and foot.”

“It’ll look incredible when it’s finished,” he said warmly before playing a few soft notes. “I’m guessing it’ll be a gift for Cintra?” he asked before he started to play a sweet melody.

Geralt nodded. “For Pavetta.” He looked at Jaskier from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face. “I want it to have sunflowers and honeysuckle, just like ours.”

It was Vesemir’s gift that had inspired him. He’d studied the crib carefully, practiced carving on a block sitting beside it. Vesemir had shown him a few techniques early on, and now and then he came into the workshop to inspect Geralt’s work. If he left with the barest smile, Geralt knew he’d done well. He nearly always left with one these days: a mark of pride.

“It’s perfect,” Jaskier said warmly as he looked over the intricate carvings. “You should bring that ribbon along when we go back, I think it’d sweet.” He hummed as he continued to play. He plucked at strings nonchalantly, testing out slight changes in the melody as he went.

Geralt laughed with sudden realization. “The ribbon! I hadn’t realized it before. It has sunflowers and honeysuckle, just like Vesemir’s crib. Is that why you chose them?” Geralt had quite forgotten to ask, and the need to know had faded over time. But now he was curious: what _had_ been the hint behind the ribbon?

“No,” Jaskier said with a little chuckle. “It was because the last place in the hunt was where we watched the _sun_ rise before we went out on our _honey-_ moon,” he explained. “It wasn’t the best clue, but you ended up there in the end.”

Geralt scoffed in amused disbelief, then tossed a wood curl in his direction. “That was a _terrible_ hint. If not for Vesemir, I would have been wandering the estate all night.”

“You would have found me eventually!” Jaskier called back with a little chuckle. “And I couldn’t think of great hints towards the end. It was a lot of work to get the town to cooperate, and I was running out of time. Roach was fast back then.”

“It would have been a brilliant hint if you’d been waiting in the library,” Geralt said. “I’d been fixated on it awhile, kept circling back to it thinking I’d missed something there. Surely you’ve noticed the carvings on the posts between the shelves by now. Do you know what they mean?”

“I never really thought about it, I just thought they were cute,” Jaskier admitted before setting aside his lute. “I could guess, but I doubt it’ll be half as interesting as what the real story is.”

Geralt smiled. He turned the post over, admiring his own carving with fondness. “You may be surprised to hear that my mother was born in Cintra. The house where she lived overlooked a hillside of wild sunflowers. There are many such places in Cintra where they grow freely; the association is an old one. My father, naturally, was born in Eskalott. He cultivated the wild honeysuckle from the woods—it grows around the pillars of the pavilion. We used to have sunflowers in the garden, but I think they must have been destroyed in the storm that took the shed those years ago. I don’t remember where they grew anymore, but they remain in portraits and paintings in the house. They are my parents’ flowers, and they both mean happiness; not just in the language of the flowers, but to me. And I want to share it.”

Jaskier couldn’t help the softness in his eyes as Geralt spoke. The man was so perfectly sentimental, it made his heart melt. “Darling, one of these days I’ll have to write down all of these sweet stories and histories you seem to collect. We’ll make a family tome of sorts, so our children don’t have to worry about forgetting details over time. Your stories and my songs: it’ll be a good addition to the library,” he suggested.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anything after ‘our children,’” Geralt said, eyes shining as he slipped off into his imaginings again, the prospect of having more than one child overwhelming his senses.

"You're worse than my mother when it comes to daydreaming about children," Jaskier chuckled. "I swear the second we got married you started thinking of names."

“I wasn’t thinking of names. I was too busy thinking about what we’d do together, what games we’d play, watching them ride, the songs they’d learn … oh no, I’d forgotten all about names. Jaskier, I can’t think of a single one,” Geralt said, suddenly pale. “Are we going to name the child or will Pavetta? If we let her do the naming, what will the Law do?”

"We'll let Pavetta name them, I doubt the law will care who names the child," Jaskier assured him gently. "You need to relax, love. If you're this tense when we return to Cintra, you're going to do more harm than good."

Geralt turned back to his work, fiddling with his knife. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen to her or the child. I’ve been trying to think carefully about the way the Law works. Vesemir has seen it at work many times in the past, and he and I have been talking, trying to understand the rules and its history. I want this to go smoothly. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

"I know, but right now we don't want to worry Pavetta with the Law. We'll be cautious, and we've been cautious with all of our planning," Jaskier insisted. "All we can do now is impatiently wait for the day we get to meet them."

With a deep breath, Geralt nodded and quietly resumed his work. He got worked up so easily at any new complications; he knew he had to relax. So he returned to the hypnotic task of carving, allowing it to take his focus once more, and asked Jaskier to play for him.

Jaskier picked up his lute again and played the same melody that he had been toying with a few minutes ago. He hummed along as he played but didn't sing anything yet.

“Is that new?” Geralt asked. Jaskier had a habit of humming while he composed. Melody first, then lyrics, though now and then he started with a phrase and the melody sprung forth from it.

“It is. I’m planning to finish it before we return to Cintra,” he explained as he continued on to the next piece of the gentle song.

How fitting, Geralt thought, that Jaskier should be working on something to offer the family as well. “Will that be your gift?”

“It will be part of _our_ gift,” Jaskier teased gently. “Although it’s more for our child than Pavetta.”

“Our gift; will I be singing a part?” Geralt joked. Then he glanced at Jaskier with a smile. “If it’s for our child, I’m guessing it’s to be a lullaby.”

“It is. I’m thinking about including flowers in the lyrics, all things considered,” he offered as he continued to play. “Something about dreams sweeter than honeysuckle, or snapdragons nipping at their heels,” he mused.

“Sunflowers rising with the sun in Cintra,” Geralt tacked on as another wood curl fell from his carving.

“Dancing across daydreams and fields of flowers,” he sang along with a softer piece of the melody.

Geralt set the tools down in his lap and leaned back. He closed his eyes, listening. Soon, they’d be together in the nursery. He could picture some lazy afternoon, Jaskier playing his song while Geralt cradled the child in his arms, whether rocking her or feeding her, the atmosphere warm and idyllic. He leaned back further, the two front legs of his chair lifting off the ground as he sunk deeper into his daydream. Then, the chair slipped out from under him and he fell to the ground with a startled yelp.

Jaskier stopped playing abruptly and hurried over to him, stifling a chuckle as he went to check in him. “Love are you alright?” he asked as he reached out to help him up.

Geralt blinked back up from the floor. The fall had given him an idea. He quickly sat up, rubbing his back, and let himself be pulled to his feet. “I’m fine,” he assured Jaskier. “I’m perfectly fine, just a bit of a bump.”

“If you’re sure, love,” he said gently before kissing his cheek and letting him go. “I don’t want you to get hurt before we leave. I imagine we’ll be getting a summons soon.”

“We’re almost there. In a week or so, it’ll be two months in Cintra.” Geralt looked at the pieces of the crib, frowning slightly. “I may need to bring my work with me on the ship. I want it to be finished by the time we arrive.”

“Hopefully the seas will be calm during the journey then. I don’t want you to lose a finger to the crib,” he teased.

“I’ll wear a mesh glove. It’d be such a hassle to lose a finger; you need all four for a proper evening,” he replied, leering suggestively at his husband.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re implying, care to show me?” Jaskier teased back, feigning ignorance for the moment.

Then, abruptly Geralt picked up his pole and began working again. “No. I’m a bit busy at the moment. Have to get this done before we’re summoned, you know.” He grinned cheekily at Jaskier and flicked yet another wood curl in his direction.

“You’re terrible,” he teased before throwing the curl back at him. “I’m just trying to distract you on one of the numbered nights that we have alone together,” he added dramatically.

“It’s midday. We can revisit that thought when there’s no light to work by. In the meantime, there’s plenty of work to be done to distract me, and you’ve got your song to write. Now give me a kiss and go wander awhile until inspiration strikes, then you can show me your progress in an hour when you grow lonely for my company again.”

“You’re rather bossy today, darling,” Jaskier huffed before picking up his lute again and walking over to him. He leaned over and stole a kiss, and the ribbon in Geralt’s hair in one smooth motion.

“Hey, bring that back!” Geralt scolded, his hair falling out of place over his eyes as the loose braid came unravelled. He blew a few locks from his face, and they immediately fell back. “Jaskier, I need that to work. I can’t see.”

Jaskier tied the ribbon to his lute. “You’ll get it back later. It’s a memory of me, it’ll just be another distraction. I don’t want you _growing lonely for my company_ too quickly, and I doubt having reminders of me hanging around will be helpful in taking your mind off of me.”

Geralt glared at him as he retreated from the room. “Look who’s bossy now,” he grumbled.

Jaskier let the door slam behind him, on the way out.

“Dramatic tease,” Geralt huffed. He rolled his eyes, then rummaged around his drawer of odds and ends until he produced a leather strap to tie back his hair with. Then he smiled to himself and locked the workshop door. He had an hour to start with, and he set aside his work to begin sketching something new. He would have to work quickly; any day they might be summoned to Cintra, and he had to be finished before they were called away again. It would be troublesome if he had to bring it along on the boat and Jaskier caught him. He’d work on the crib then instead, keep the surprise a secret. When he’d finished the sketch at the end of the hour, he tucked it away in the least likely place, lest Jaskier get any ideas about snooping. Geralt had a feeling there would be several sleepless nights ahead.

Jaskier had gone up to bed early that evening. Geralt hadn’t met him for dinner so he figured he was still feverishly working on the crib. It hadn’t been entirely unexpected but a word of warning would have been nice. So the bard retreated to their rooms and decided that a reward would be in order when Geralt returned. He figured he would have an hour or so before his husband joined him, so he decided to weave a long strand of ribbon along his torso and thighs, the silk of which was the same color of the first ribbon Jaskier had given the earl.

He started off elegantly lounged in a chair by the fire with a glass of wine, but after an hour, one glass turned into two and he decided their bed was far more comfortable. And after another hour of being artfully arranged amongst their sheets he decided to tuck himself in instead and do something useful while he waited. So he pulled out his song book and worked on his latest composition for what he had hoped would have been a few minutes before Geralt joined him. Minutes turned into hours and Jaskier eventually had to put away his notebook altogether before one of the lines killed him. Finally, he ended up with a book in hand and a third glass of wine poured and sitting on his bedside table while he waited for Geralt to stumble in.

When Geralt finally retired, Jaskier was reading by lamplight. Geralt dumped his boots at the door and stripped on his way to the bed, flopping on top of the covers in his smalls. He mumbled something and rested a hand on the side of Jaskier’s leg before he was muffled by the pillow. He did not move again, laying in silence, sprawled on his side of the bed with only a hand between them. In a minute, he was breathing deep and heavy, asleep.

Jaskier blinked and stared at Geralt for a long moment, frustrating raging behind his eyes, before he left him alone in bed. He grabbed his glass and stormed off to their tub for a soak, muttering something about not even receiving a kiss goodnight as he let the door shut behind him.

The next morning, their roles were reversed. Geralt was up bright and early, having a quick wash in the tub while Jaskier lay asleep in bed. Jaskier was only waking up when Geralt finished dressing and tying his hair in place. Geralt leaned over him and gave his forehead a kiss as he said, “Good morning,” cheerfully. He’d ordered breakfast for Jaskier and it was sitting beside his bed on a tray. “Forgive me for working late. I got carried away.”

“A warning would have been nice, I like spending time with you before bed, not just _in_ bed,” he mumbled softly as he rubbed his eyes. “Can you at least stay for breakfast?”

“Sorry, love. Vesemir needs my help with something, and he’s only available in the morning. For the rest of the day, he and Mousesack will be reviewing the arrangements for our journey back to Cintra. I’m afraid everyone’s starting to get impatient; they’ve decided they’re sick of waiting for the courier’s summons to get started.”

The truth of the first part was the opposite: Geralt needed Vesemir’s help with his surprise, but Jaskier didn’t need to know that. The surprise was for him after all. Vesemir had more experience with woodwork, and Geralt wanted to ensure that everything would be perfect. Vesemir agreed to assist him in the mornings up until their departure, and Geralt meant to steal as much time as possible to see it complete before then.

“Oh, we’re leaving soon then?” Jaskier asked as he stepped out of bed and walked off to get dressed. “Do you need help getting things in order?”

“We don’t know when the summons will come, but they want to be prepared. We’ll only have a week to get everything in order when it arrives and you know how Vesemir hates to be rushed into things.” Geralt hesitated for an excuse to keep Jaskier out of the workshop. “I think Mousesack would appreciate you being involved in the plans. Since I’m stealing Vesemir for the morning, why don’t you lend him a hand? By getting in early, you can choose what you’d like to bring to eat on the trip. You’d be getting to the menu before Lambert can make every breakfast a fry-up.”

“I’ll find him after breakfast then,” Jaskier mumbled as he started to get dressed. “Are you going to come to dinner tonight or will you still be busy with the crib?” he asked as he turned to face him.

But Geralt was no longer there. His footsteps sounded in the hall: hurried, heavy footsteps, eager to get to work.

“Bastard,” Jaskier huffed before sitting down for breakfast, fuming.

Geralt dashed down the hall, down the stairs, and made his way further down, down, down: past the kitchen and toward the far end of the estate where Vesemir was waiting in the workshop for his arrival. Today they’d finish shaping all the pieces to make ready for the most time-consuming part of the project: the carving. In this, Vesemir’s skill shone through.

“I’m ready,” he said, locking the workshop doors behind him. “Did you bring the tools you mentioned?”

“Of course I did. So, tell me. What are you planning?” Vesemir asked as he set his smaller tool box atop the work bench. “You emphasized that it was a surprise but the specifics were lost on me.”

Geralt climbed on top of a chest of drawers to reach a high shelf in the upper storage. From this he pulled his sketches. He jumped down and passed them proudly to Vesemir. “A rocking chair,” he announced. “I fell out of my chair yesterday after leaning back too far and it struck me: the only thing missing from the nursery is a rocking chair.”

Vesemir looked over the design and nodded as he examined the smaller details. “I’m happy that you added in the flowers,” he noted as he set aside the drawings. “What have you done thus far?”

“I’ve measured and cut all the pieces. By the end of the morning, I’m hoping to have them all sanded, jointed, and ready for carving. I wanted your eyes. You know when something’s quality, and you’re better at joining than I am. Jaskier likes to drop into chairs when he’s tired. I chose a sturdy wood, but it won’t mean a thing if the joints are weak. And I want to practice carving with you if we have the time today. I want to put buttercups on the headrest for him.”

“Then let’s get started; we have a lot of work ahead of us,” he said bluntly before taking up one of the pieces of the chair to start sanding.

Geralt nodded and fell to work. There was no time to waste.

Jaskier made his way out to the gardens after breakfast in search of Mousesack. The gardens had just barely begun to recover from the winter frosts, and the paths were overrun with mud and puddles from the snowmelt. But that didn’t stop the pair of them from meeting there.

Jaskier waved to the sorcerer as he approached and quickly joined him on the stone bench he had settled on. “Good morning. Geralt told me you’ve begun preparations for our journey back to Cintra? I was hoping to be of some use in that effort.”

“Ah, Master Bard,” Mousesack said familiarly. It would be more proper to address Jaskier by title, but courtly manners were best used in court. He smiled over a list in his hands. “Yes, Vesemir and I were talking the other day. Eskel and Lambert have been bothersome of late, constantly asking for updates on the courier. We decided it would be best to appear busy.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “They’re almost as excited as Geralt is to meet the baby,” he teased as he looked over the list. “And the messenger could arrive any day now, it’s all rather thrilling, if not incredibly stressful.”

“Not at all! The real stress will come after the birth. Have you prepared for the holiday squabbles? The name day arguments? Five people, all trying to decide on one nursemaid—not accounting for Eist; I doubt he’ll be able to elbow his way into things.”

“I’ve prepared myself to do right by the child, the adults on the other hand … ” he paused remembering the dagger incident from a few months ago. “I have a low tolerance for most of their ridiculousness.”

Mousesack laughed. He had a very friendly way about him that put people at ease. It was in the way he spoke, in his honest, humorous expressions. He had a laugh that could never be false. “You’ll come to build up a tolerance in time,” he replied. “If not, you might wake to find your daggers taken and turned on you. At least she likes you better after your display in the stateroom. Better than Geralt from the start, anyway. Put a few points in your favor.”

“Calanthe and I share a disdain for the court. As long as we don’t have to deal with formalities for months on end I’m sure we’ll survive,” he said with a little chuckle. “I worry about Geralt more than anything; he’s already wound up over all of this, which is just more stress to add to this mess.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s always been a bit too tightly wound, like a poorly managed clock spring. Once the bells go off, he’ll wind down again like always,” Mousesack assured. “Come on then, you’re going to help me with my lists. Currently, I’m sorting through the study materials. You’ll be staying on a year, which means plenty of correspondence. We’re emptying the desks and bringing all the work materials with us. Vesemir’s taking the account books personally. You may have to share a study in the castle; there are plenty of rooms, but I doubt the queen will be so generous, circumstances considered.”

“Geralt is much better with the paperwork, so as long as we don’t mix our work together too much in the move, it won’t be too difficult to transition into a new space,” Jaskier noted, speaking mostly to himself before he glanced back to Mousesack. “Is there any way for us to quickly send correspondences back and forth from Rivia and Lyria to Cintra, or will we have to rely on messengers?”

Mousesack leaned forward in thought. “There are messenger birds, of course. I could look into some spells, but generally we rely on post for its security. Do you often have urgent news, or have you simply become anxious to hear from the courier like all the rest?”

“Well, it’s actually more for my mother than myself—and Geralt and I need to be well aware of Eskalott in our absence,” Jaskier added quickly in an attempt to obscure his true motives.

“Will your mother be coming to stay at the estate in your absence?” Mousesack asked.

“No, no, she’ll stay with my father in Lettenhove—But this will technically still be her first grandchild, and because she won’t be able to join us, I promised to write to her frequently,” Jaskier admitted.

Mousesack smiled wide. “Naturally! Well, as long as you aren’t slipping state secrets in your letters, I don’t see why would couldn’t procure you a messenger pigeon or two—a hawk if you’re especially chatty and pen a hefty scroll!”

“I’m certain a hawk will be better suited to the endeavor. My mother and I aren’t exactly known for our brevity,” he chuckled softly. “I’m actually quite surprised she hasn’t overwhelmed us with gifts for the child yet. She has been planning to spoil them for years.”

“Maybe she’s waiting to see what kind it will be. Can’t write ‘to my lovely granddaughter’ on the note if it’s a boy. Or maybe she’ll be wanting the name first so she can address the gifts directly.” Mousesack laughed and clapped Jaskier’s back. “Maybe she’s holding the gifts ransom so you’ll be forced to come and visit!” he added. “Shall I order a second boat?”

“Trust me, I’m sure they’ll weasel their way into Cintra at some point.” Jaskier chuckled. “But for now I think it’s safe to assume that Geralt and a I will be journeying there alone with you.”

“Well, not entirely alone.”

Mousesack dropped the end of a rather lengthy scroll, revealing two lists made in two separate hands. “Eskel and Lambert’s demands. Apparently Eskel keeps a fussy goat in the same spoiled manner as Geralt’s horse. Half this list is for its care. And Lambert has something here about cooks and pineapples that I can’t even pretend to understand. Seems they’ll be coming along.”

“Those two were implied,” Jaskier teased before taking Lambert’s list and reading through a few sections of it. “He really put a lot of emphasis on not having pineapples in his food. It’s as if he’s expecting us to have it twice a week, instead of once a year.”

“Who the hell needs to be told _not_ to put it in? As if he’ll have access to one at all. Perhaps he means pine nuts. It could be some prank against me; he strikes me as the mischievous sort.”

“No, his lover spent a summer trying to court him with pineapples. He must have spent a small fortune on them, and Lambert hates them,” Jaskier explained with a little chuckle.

Mousesack gawked. “You can’t be serious! Who can afford to waste that kind of money? And why persist if he hates them—poor taste, regardless. I’d like to throttle him if I wasn’t so impressed.”

“His father owned an incredibly successful fleet of merchant vessels, and Lambert wasn’t man enough to tell him he hated the fruit, so it went on for ages.”

“Dear lord. A merchant’s son. I would have been less surprised if you’d told me he’d hooked a tyrant or emperor in some foreign land. Well done, _Lambert.”_

“They’re quite cute together: Lambert looks at home with him,” Jaskier hummed as he rolled up the lists and handed them back.

Mousesack pocketed the lists and rose. “Should any more pineapples come his way, I’d be perfectly happy to help him dispose of them. Can you imagine? Pineapples! In the plural! Ha, what a world we live in.” Mousesack giggled as he lead them back inside, shaking his head all the while, now and then with another interjection about the absurdity of it all. Pineapples!

Jaskier followed after him with a laugh of his own. “They’re an odd fruit though, and inconvenient. I mean what god makes a fruit both spiked and acidic?” he added as he followed him in.

“One who clearly doesn’t want to share!”

They spent the rest of the morning going through the house, discussing what essentials would be needed during their year abroad in Cintra to conduct business smoothly. In fact, they got so busy, they quite forgot all about the courier, as if they meant to go on and leave without waiting for the arrival of the summons. Until just after lunch when a footman came dashing up—rather hurriedly—to present a letter on a platter to Jaskier at the table.

“Your Grace,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “It’s come. It’s arrived, sir.”

“Oh—thank you for finding me,” Jaskier said as he took the letter from him and set it aside. “I’ll go get my husband before we open it, I don’t think it’ll be fair to open it without him,” he said. He got up, keeping an air of calm about him until he left the hall and dashed off to the workshop.

Vesemir was just stepping out of the doors when he arrived. He looked at Jaskier, almost startled at his approach, and a little loudly said, “Ah, _Jaskier._ Come to fetch Geralt for lunch, have you?”

“Actually, Mousesack and I just finished, but I do still need Geralt for a little while,” he said as he tried to push past him.

Vesemir stepped casually in front of him. “Oh, sorry,” he said. They stepped to the same side again, and then a third time as one does when awkwardly trying to pass in a hallway, Vesemir trying to stall as best he could, until Jaskier stepped exaggeratedly to the side until his shoulder brushed the wall, and his gambit was up.

“I’ll just squeeze by,” Jaskier said with strained politeness as he started to push open the door.

The door immediately slammed shut, followed by the heavy sound of the bar being set behind it.

“Geralt what the fuck—!” Jaskier huffed before banging on the door. “Let me in! It’s important!”

Geralt’s voice came out from the other side. “Just one moment!” he called. “I’ve got— _nails!_ The floor is covered in nails and tools and I don’t want you getting one through your foot. I’ll be right there, just let me clean up!”

“Just come out then! You’re going to regret waiting when you hear the news!” he called back before stepping back from the door a bit. “I can’t believe you spilled nails everywhere, usually you aren’t that clumsy.”

“It was Vesemir,” Geralt replied. “He’s getting old.” There was a great deal of fumbling and the sound of wood knocking about. Then, a few minutes later, Geralt opened the door, looking windswept and flushed, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. “What news?” he asked, bracing himself as he panted in the doorframe.

“We got the summons, I didn’t want to open it without you,” he said with a little smile at the sight of him. “That crib is really taking it out of you isn’t it?” he teased.

“The what?” Geralt asked, already distracted and searching for the letter in Jaskier’s hands. He took a deep breath, his hand shaking.

“The summons? Come on darling I didn’t realize you were that distracted with work,” he teased.

“Yes, that,” Geralt recovered. In truth, he’d forgotten about the crib, having set it aside to work on the chair. “Do you have it on you? Let’s open it, quick.”

“I left it in the dining room. I thought the workshop might be a mess and I didn’t want it to get ruined,” he hummed before reaching for his hand. “Come on, I want to go read it.”

Geralt sprinted forward in his excitement, everything catching up with him. “Let’s go!” he cheered enthusiastically. “Come on, I’ll race you! First one there gets to be the one to open it!” He ran ahead, completely ignorant of the hand he’d left behind, unclasped.

Jaskier sighed heavily and chased after him again. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled as they continued along.

Naturally, Geralt reached the dining room first. He took his place at the head of the table and sat, the unopened letter in his hands. Vesemir, Eskel, and Lambert were crowded around him, Mousesack smiling from his own place, plate pushed to one side. Peeking in at one of the doors, a few of the house staff, ready to go dashing about with the news. Even the footmen were leaning forward from their posts, eager for the news. The entire house seemed to strain with anticipation.

When Jaskier entered, Geralt looked up with shining eyes. Good-naturedly, he held the letter knife out to Jaskier. “You go on,” he said. “I cheated anyway by calling the challenge mid-run.”

Jaskier smiled back at him faintly and took the knife and the letter. “We both knew I wouldn’t win that race,” he teased before slowly opening the letter and sitting on the table to read through it. “Hm. It’s a lack-luster letter really, clearly penned by Calanthe, but it looks like we’ll be leaving by the end of the week.”

Geralt craned his neck to read over Jaskier’s shoulder. “It’s finally happening then,” he whispered. In just under two months, they’d be holding their child in their arms.

Vesemir turned to the rest and started giving directions. “You heard the young duke; start making your preparations!” he called. He began pointing around the room at once, giving directions. “Make your lists, start packing. On the seventh day, we’re loading up the ship and sailing off whether you’re at the dock or not!”

Jaskier ignored the flurry of orders around them and smiled up at Geralt. “It’s so soon,” he agreed gently. “Why don’t we take the rest of the day off together?”

Geralt bit his lip and frowned. As much as he wanted a break, he needed every spare hour he could steal, especially now that the summons had arrived. “I’ll come to bed early tonight,” he offered in exchange. “I’d like to get as much done as I can before we leave. Once we’re on board the ship, we’ll have plenty of time alone together and I promise to make it up to you.”

“Will you have dinner with me too, or just join me tonight?” he asked gently. “It’ll be our last few nights alone here for a while, I don’t want to spend them jealous of the workshop,” he teased, trying to get him to smile again before he left.

Geralt hesitated. “I’ll try not to lose track of the hour,” he said. He kissed Jaskier’s cheek before slipping out of his chair. Without another word, he was gone, back to the workshop to hole himself up for another afternoon of work.

Jaskier hurried off to his own work after that. He had to pack their offices, and he didn’t trust the servants to do that on their own, seeing as he and Geralt worked in wildly different ways.

Meanwhile, the hours in the workshop passed, one identical to the other. Geralt was absorbed in his work, all his focus on the task at hand. He _would_ have the chair complete before they set sail. There would be no way to hide it on the ship, and there was the risk of someone else sitting in it first if he set it up in the castle nursery. It belonged to Jaskier, and he would have that honour. So he toiled until he’d finished each joint and tested their fit. He would not lock them in until all the carving had been done, but he felt a sense of pride at seeing the raw chair put together. The carving would take days to complete, and that was the biggest challenge of all.

When dinner came round, Geralt did not know. The light was always the same in the workshop; to keep anyone from spoiling the surprise, he worked with the windows covered, lit by lamplight. It was only when his fingers were red and his shoulders were stiff that he realized he’d spent too long hunched in one place. He stretched and set down his knife. He nudged a wooden board away from the window and felt his stomach drop when moonlight fell through the crack. Quickly, he left the workshop and locked the door behind him. Jaskier had been kept too long.

Jaskier had paced their room for about an hour before giving up on Geralt for the night. He had been kidding, earlier, or—well, he made it seem that way, but now he felt like he was being pushed aside and put below Geralt’s work in priority.

He wanted to ride out the hurt alone that night so he tucked himself away in the guest room for the evening to work on his song and sleep off his frustrations.

Geralt had gone up to the bedroom to look for Jaskier when he heard the sound of the lute in the guest room. He pressed his ear against it, listening. Jaskier was deep in his composing. For a moment, he debated going in to keep him company, but he didn’t want to disturb him. Instead, he headed for their room and decided to wait in bed for when Jaskier was ready. With Jaskier always waiting on him, it was the least he could do.

The night had drawn on for quite a while by the time Jaskier heard the familiar sound of Geralt’s boots clunking down the hall. He paused his playing for a moment to listen, waiting for Geralt to notice he was missing. When he never came back down the hall Jaskier’s heart dropped. The silence was deafening, waiting for a door to open and only finding silence was too familiar.

He didn’t expect it to hurt the way it did. It wasn’t like Geralt was doing it on purpose, he knew that much. But he hadn’t expected him to forget him so easily. Being tossed aside had started to become more foreign to him, but now he felt all those feelings rushing back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6539

The next morning, Geralt was up with the dawn and the bed was empty when Jaskier peered inside. There would be no breakfast together for another morning and the feeling grew stronger.

Geralt assumed Jaskier was kept busy as well, working hard to prepare for their departure. He did not hear from him again after that night. In apology, he asked the cook to prepare Jaskier’s favorite dinner for him and left a note on the dining table. Since Jaskier made no mention of it, he assumed he’d accepted. The few times he passed Jaskier in the hall, going between one task and another, he still smiled at him and leaned for Geralt’s chaste kisses. Geralt wondered what tasks kept him busiest: composing or packing?

The chair was coming along slowly but surely. He started from the bottom, working his way up just as real vines would grow. And how the vines wrapped around the legs of the rocking chair! Inspired, Geralt practiced carving birds on a few scraps of wood. When he’d gotten one just right, he etched out a place for it on one of the thick poles that supported the arms and carved a nest around it. A lark for his songbird. Jaskier would appreciate the attention to detail.

All the flowers were carved from lighter wood and set in as each piece was finished. They stood out against the dark cherry of the base wood. The flowers had their own diversity, chosen from different scraps of old projects, color ranging from white to yellow. He was dying to finish and share it. He could almost see Jaskier’s face now, his hand stroking the smallest details with delight. He wanted to show Jaskier the carvings he’d used to practice, maybe drop a small wooden flower into his hand as they passed in the hall. But he wanted to leave no hints. He resisted with some difficulty.

At night and in the early morning, he packed. Vesemir often had to physically drag him from his work to get the task done. No, Geralt didn’t care what clothes he wore. No, he didn’t have anything in particular that he wanted to bring along. All he needed was Jaskier, his work supplies, his carpentry tools, and Roach. Everything else would be fine however they planned things. But if Vesemir insisted … Geralt packed the things Jaskier liked him best in at court. He packed books they’d discussed and read many times over to pass the long days at sea. His box of treasures came along, of course, so they might look through the pieces of advice written for him from more experienced parents alongside jokes that would soothe the sting of Calanthe’s words.

He was often so tired at the end of the night that he fell asleep in front of a chest or trunk in the middle of packing. Some nights, he slept kneeling before the bed, too tired to crawl into it properly. Once, he’d not bothered to close the door and had merely draped himself on the carpet, curling up with one of the robes he’d set aside to pack. He woke up sore and tired, but still as resolved as ever to stumble back down to the workshop. The chair was nearly done, and the seventh day was upon them. Had had only the headpiece left to complete.

Jaskier had started to make it a point to stop by their room when it was late. His nights were mostly sleepless at this point, so he would stop by at odd hours. Most of the time Geralt was asleep, laid out across his clothes as he packed. It was sweet in a way, but worry buried its way into the sweetness. It was like Geralt hadn’t noticed he was missing at all, he was just going through the motions without him.

They reached their final night before the ship was supposed to leave, and Geralt missed their last dinner. Jaskier couldn’t take it any longer. He made his way down to the workshop with a blanket from their room held tight around his shoulders. He had taken it a few nights ago in an attempt to rest a bit better. He missed being held, and the blanket still smelled like Geralt. It helped.

He let himself in and spoke softly as he stepped through. He was teary before he could get a word out but he still managed to speak. “Love, can you please come to bed?” he asked weakly, his voice trembling on every word.

Geralt jumped. He hadn’t heard the door open behind him. “Jaskier,” he breathed, putting himself between Jaskier and the chair. He was just finishing the last coat of oil to seal the headpiece. The rest stood waiting, assembled. He looked nervously at the blanket around Jaskier’s shoulders. “What time is it?” he asked. He’d forgotten to lock the door in his haste.

“It’s only eight, I just—I miss you,” Jaskier said softly, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know if you remember, but we were supposed to spend some time together. The time lost—it doesn’t matter. Just please spend the night with me?” he asked again, his voice verging on desperate. “ _Please?_ ”

Geralt’s chest tightened at the sound of his voice. He reached forward, bridging the distance and adjusting the blanket on his husband’s shoulders. “Jaskier, are you alright?” he asked, voice soft, calming. “Has something happened, love?”

“You’ve been avoiding me—I just—I know you’ve been busy, but…” He leaned against his chest and fumbled through his words. “They were our last few nights at home, for a year. I wanted to spend some of this time with you—most of it. You didn’t even miss me. I know we have a lot of other things to focus on, but things will all be different after this trip—I want to hold onto you for a little longer, I wanted you to hold me, I wanted you to talk to me, have dinner with me, live out the last of our normal together when we could—I—did I do something? I didn’t mean to, you’ve just been holed up in here—you won’t even let me in. I’ve been alone.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and pulled him closer. His chest shuddered as if he’d been struck. “I … oh, Jaskier. I didn’t realize.” He tucked his face into Jaskier’s hair, peppering it with kisses. “I was thinking of you all the while. I was so busy thinking that I forgot to pay attention. I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

Jaskier pushed him back and wiped his eyes a bit. “Just promise you’ll give me tonight, please?” he asked again.

Geralt smiled. He stepped forward and scooped Jaskier up in his arms. “I’m nearly finished. I suppose the rest can wait until morning,” he said, kissing Jaskier’s forehead. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You can tell me all about what you’ve been up to this week. Shall we call for some wine or tea? How about something sweet to end the evening?”

Jaskier settled against his chest and closed his eyes. “It’s a tea night, and cake would be good … ” he said softly as they continued along. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m sorry I haven’t said it enough this week.”

On their way, Geralt called out to a passing maid and asked for their snack to be brought up for them. She looked relieved to see Jaskier cradled in his arms, enough so that Geralt took notice. If it had been enough to worry the servants, perhaps he _had_ been more than a little neglectful. He hoped Jaskier would forgive him when he learned the reason for it.

When they arrived, the room was warm, the fire blazing away and filling the place with a cozy light. Geralt took a deep breath. It had been such a long time since he’d returned to find the room so inviting. He lay Jaskier down on the bed and removed his boots for him, giving his feet a gentle rub as he sat on the end of the bed.

“So tell me; what have I missed while I had my head stuck between poles this week? How have you fared, Julian?”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Well, I’ve nearly finished the lullaby, and I got our offices packed up. Mousesack and I helped Vesemir oversee most of the other packing, and I went into town a lot. I made sure to stock up on those preserves that you like—oh, and I had some pears preserved too. I was hoping we could let the baby try some when they’re old enough for solid food, seeing as they’ll be soft enough to make a sauce for them,” Jaskier hummed as he laid back in bed. “By the way, that night you came to bed late the first time, I got dressed up for you,” he teased with a weak chuckle.

“No-o-o,” Geralt moaned, flopping over face-first on the bed. “And I _missed_ it?” he wailed.

“It was that light blue ribbon you like too,” he teased before rolling over to look at him. “Matched the one I stole from you. That you still haven’t got back.”

Geralt’s eyes opened wide. His hand flew back to feel at the leather strap he’d been using. He hadn’t given his appearance much thought, and now that he had a moment, he missed the familiar braid Jaskier would put in for him. “Where is it? Tell me,” he pleaded.

“Find it yourself; I’m not really hiding it,” he said softly as he watched him. “You should remember where it is.”

Geralt’s mouth fell in a flat line. He sat up and looked around the room, trying to spot Jaskier’s lute in some corner or other, either leaning or packed in its case. “Where’s your lute?” he asked. He stood up at once, ready to go fetch it.

“The guest room,” he said as he pulled the blanket closer around himself.

Geralt stalled mid-step, his hand caught on the door. “Have you been sleeping in the guest room all this time?” he asked. He looked back over his shoulder, brow furrowed with shame.

“Yeah,” he mumbled softly, glancing away from him.

Geralt was quiet a moment. Then, he hurried from the room. He returned as quickly, the ribbon fluttering in his hand. He knelt in front of the bed, offering the ribbon to Jaskier. “I’ve been running astray this week,” he whispered. “Will you reclaim me?”

Jaskier took up the ribbon and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Of course love, I just wish you would’ve asked sooner,” he said softly.

“Forgive me. I’m asking now. And I promise, I’ll not stray again so long.” He leaned forward, his hand on Jaskier’s side. He tilted his head to kiss the corner of Jaskier’s lips, then rested there, pressed close against his cheek. “Forgive me, please.”

“I forgive you, darling. I could never stay upset with you,” he said before he running a hand through his hair, removing the band. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, I should have said something sooner.”

“We’re still learning, and we’ll always be learning,” Geralt said. He sighed, not knowing until then how much he missed Jaskier’s touch. “Do you remember what I said when we first arrived? Vesemir was nagging and pushing you to your limit. I asked you to come to me if it ever got to be too much.” He closed his eyes, leaning closer against Jaskier’s hand. “I want you to come to me always, especially if I’m the source of your frustration, and I’ll in turn try to watch more carefully in the future,” he promised.

“I don’t like worrying you, you know that. And you just seemed content with your work,” Jaskier replied. “It’s hard to pull you away sometimes,” he tried to explain as he slowly wound a braid into place.

Geralt hummed. “I’ll admit, if you’d asked me again sooner, if you’d asked me so casually, I wouldn’t have seen how much you needed me. I would probably still be in the workshop. There’s something important I needed to finish before we set sail. I put you in a bind.”

“I’ll just remember to cry when I need your attention,” he teased gently as he tied the ribbon in place. “And I don’t want to talk about work or sailing tonight.”

“And I don’t want you to cry. Let’s talk about something nice instead. Will you sing your song for me?”

“Not yet. It’s not yours, our daughter gets to hear it first. Well, I’m hoping for a daughter anyways.”

“Oh? Have I infected you with my daydreams?” Geralt teased back. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and rolled over him. He kept rolling until he flung Jaskier on the other side of himself, his legs dangling over the back of Geralt’s hip as he laughed and snuggled close.

Jaskier laughed with him and stole a kiss. “Maybe a bit. It’s a sweet dream,” he said quietly before kissing him again.

“Hmm, _you’re_ a sweet dream,” Geralt countered. He smiled against Jaskier’s lips as the knock sounded from across the room. His eyes flicked toward the door. “Speaking of sweet things, I believe that’s your tea.”

“Can you go get it, darling?” he asked with a smile. “I missed our bed.”

Geralt buried his face against his neck and whined comically. “But that would mean leaving you. I’m joined at the hip.” He patted Jaskier’s knees to emphasize his point, currently hooked over his hip, as punned.

Jaskier pushed Geralt off of him with a laugh. “You could just tell them to come in,” he teased.

Geralt pulled him back, refusing to let go. He turned his head and shouted, “Come in!” as Jaskier wiggled in his grasp.

A servant wheeled the cart in, laden with fresh tea, honey, and lemon cake. He smiled at the silly, affectionate display before maintain a more professional façade. “Will that be all, my lord?”

“That will be all, thank you,” Geralt replied. He then returned to his very serious business of blowing a raspberry on Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shrieked and tried to shove his head away. “Geralt! That’s not fair!” He giggled as he tried to push him back. “Thank you!” he called as the servant left.

Geralt chuckled and attacked him again. “I don’t— _pffft!_ —play fair!” he replied.

Jaskier pulled at his hair and squirmed in his arms. “You were supposed to be the chivalrous one,” he giggled as he tried to escape.

“Says who? I’m a scoundrel, remember? The great White Wolf! I’m not above cheating.” Then, suddenly, Jaskier’s finger prodded at his side and he leapt away with a yelp, sprawling on the other side of the bed.

“Oh? What was that wolfie?” he teased as he moved to straddle his hips and tickle his sides while he had him pinned.

Geralt bit down a shriek and tried to curl in on himself. He thrashed and wriggled, the unwelcomed laughter bubbling up in his chest. He went red before he finally burst, his face contorted with the effort. “Stop, stop! I can—! I can’t—! Mercy!” he shouted.

“Fine, fine,” he giggled before kissing him and relenting. “You haven’t been this red in ages.”

Geralt’s chest rose and fell as he swallowed one deep lungful of air after another. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. “Happens when you can’t breathe,” he panted. He glared up at Jaskier, still playful. “That was a dirty move.”

“We were playing dirty,” he said before getting off of him to get a cup of tea and a slice of cake. “You don’t get to whine.”

“I don’t whine,” Geralt protested, curling up around him on the edge of the bed.

“You were whining,” he teased, offering him a bite of the cake. “It’s kind of cute.”

Geralt opened his mouth greedily. “Fine. I suppose I can tolerate being cute.”

“You’re always cute,” Jaskier teased again. “Like a lap dog, not exactly a wolf.”

“Well, you pet me often enough. Perhaps I might enjoy being a bit of a spoiled lap dog.”

“I might have to properly collar you one of these days,” Jaskier chuckled. He took another sip from his cup.

Geralt’s heart beat a little faster at the prospect, remembering similar words from long ago. “That … I could see that being something we might try…” he mumbled.

“I know how much you like being mine, so I’m not too surprised,” Jaskier hummed before pulling at his hair gently.

Geralt’s breath hitched and his eyes fluttered shut. “I wouldn’t expect you to be. You know me too well—better than myself, more often than not. At least, as far as _this_ is concerned.”

“You might need a bit of a reminder now that I think about it,” Jaskier purred softly.

Geralt swallowed, looking up at him. “I think I might,” he agreed. He was still breathing a bit hard, though now for different reasons from before. His eyes were dark as he looked up at Jaskier from where he lay on his side.

“Will you be good for me?” he hummed as he pulled at Geralt’s hair and made him meet his eyes again.

Geralt nodded, mouth hanging open slightly. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Undress, and get on your knees for me,” Jaskier said, releasing him.

Geralt slipped from the bed and began to undo the buttons of his shirt at once. As he stood, about to lift the shirt over his head, he spared a thought to glance at the door. “Should I lock it?” he asked. Someone might return for the cart later.

“Yes, they’ll get the cart in the morning,” Jaskier said as he watched Geralt. His eyes never left him, and he seemed to trace along every curve and edge of Geralt’s form.

Geralt tossed the shirt to the carpet, then walked to the door, latching it shut. He disposed of his boots on the way back, then shrugged out of his trousers without further delay. As he kicked aside his smalls, Jaskier could see Geralt was already half hard with anticipation.

Geralt returned and knelt in front of Jaskier, hands on his lap, waiting patiently.

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and watched him. “You look so good like this, so ready to be mine,” he said before cupping his cheek and stealing a kiss.

“Be careful; you’ll loosen the ribbon,” Geralt warned. Despite himself, he chased after the touch. He’d forgotten why he’d deprived himself of Jaskier’s company all week. It had been so long, he was trembling to be closer again.

“Darling I’m well aware,” he hummed as he pulled away. “Now, why don’t you help me undress?” he hummed, before raising his stockinged foot up slightly for him.

Geralt held his ankle in one hand and ran the other up his leg. As he stroked the length, he looked up at Jaskier. “I don’t want to take it off,” he said, slowly pulling off Jaskier’s stocking, lest he mistake Geralt’s meaning. He’d only just had he ribbon back. He’d missed being thus marked.

“I’ll only be taking it off to tie it back into place,” Jaskier assured him, watching. “Although I’m quite tempted to take it from your hair.” He hummed in contemplation. So many options.

Geralt pressed his forehead to Jaskier’s knee, resting it on both hands. He shook his head. “Tie it where you will, as long as you don’t take it away. It’s too soon.”

“Sit up straight for me then,” he ordered, pushing Geralt back from him with his other leg.

Geralt let himself be pushed back, his hands hooked steadily around Jaskier’s calf for balance. He pulled the second stocking free, holding Jaskier’s ankle, not wishing to be separated. He sat upright and waited, his eyes lowered to his task all the while.

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair reassuringly as he took out the ribbon. “Good. Pull your hair aside for me,” he hummed as he played with the ribbon between his fingers.

Geralt looked up then, brow furrowed in confusion. Since when did Jaskier need his help braiding hair? Nevertheless, he obediently gathered his hair to one side, combing his fingers through and catching all the stray strands. He held it together, watching Jaskier with curiosity.

Jaskier leaned forwards and wrapped the ribbon around Geralt’s neck, tying it into a bow. “There, perfect,” he hummed before looping a finger through the ribbon and pulling him into a kiss.

The moment he’d felt the smooth touch of the ribbon around his neck, Geralt gasped. He closed his eyes and let himself be pulled along, moaning against Jaskier’s lips. His heart beat faster. He hadn’t imagined Jaskier would truly act on the idea so soon, and his cock gave a delighted twitch. He licked at Jaskier’s bottom lip, beginning to squirm under his attention, ready for whatever came next. Gods above, how he’d missed this.

Jaskier smirked as he pulled away, and gently pushed him back again. “You still have work to finish before I’m going to reward you darling,” he reminded him before he stood up.

Geralt whined as Jaskier stood out of reach, but he sat back and waited. “What shall I do?” he asked.

“You still have to finish undressing me, love,” he reminded him as he stepped closer and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t dawdle now.”

Geralt was on his feet at once. The blanket had long fallen from Jaskier’s shoulders. Geralt tugged Jaskier’s shirt free, kissing desperately at his neck as he did. He unlaced the ties and pulled it carefully over before flinging his arms around Jaskier, kissing lower at his collarbone. “Missed you,” he panted, every motion urgent, mind clouding with desire.

Jaskier gasped softly and tangled a hand in his hair. “Fuck, Geralt, I missed you too,” he whimpered softly, before pulling him back a bit. “I thought you were going to listen to me though,” he said breathlessly.

“Sorry. I just needed to—when I saw you, I just…” Geralt closed his eyes to steady himself a moment. Regaining his composure, he lowered himself to his knees, fingers hooked around Jaskier’s trousers. He undid the fastenings quickly and slid them down, smalls and all, then lifted Jaskier’s legs free one at a time. He kissed Jaskier’s thigh reverently. “I’m ready to listen again,” he said.

“So eager,” he praised gently. He sat on the edge of the bed again and spread his legs. “Come here, I want your mouth,” he said as he reached out for him.

“When _don’t_ you?” Geralt teased. He crawled over, resting his arms across Jaskier’s knees with a quiet laugh.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and hooked a finger in the ribbon. “I have a better question for you. Don’t you want to make me sing?” he purred as he let him go.

The end of Geralt’s laugh had come to a stuttering halt when Jaskier held the ribbon, and he once more fell silent. He nodded, a flush spreading up his chest and neck. Somehow, Jaskier’s touch felt hotter, like a brand against his skin. He leaned forward and fell to his work with no more teasing, no more joking. He kissed the base of Jaskier’s cock before brushing his lips up the side of it, opening his mouth slowly, warm breath ghosting upward. Then, at the top, he placed another kiss before lapping at the slit to start with.

Jaskier tangled a hand in his hair and let out a breathy little moan. “Fuck, I always forget how talented you are with that tongue,” he said softly as he rocked into his touch. “You’re so good for me.”

Geralt hummed at the praise, smiling. Then, he closed his eyes and wrapped his mouth around Jaskier’s girth, slowly gliding down as he took him in. It wasn’t that he was so out of practice, but he stopped midway down, his throat unusually tight. He pulled up, then went down again, stopping in the same place, just before it reached to his throat. He wasn’t gagging just yet, but he felt … full. He repeated the action, giving Jaskier a firm suck.

Jaskier kept his hand tangled in his hair and stilled his hips. “Fuck,” he mumbled out sweetly. “Fuck, Geralt you look so good like this, so eager—and so obedient.”

Geralt pulled back a moment to breathe, his head against Jaskier’s thigh. “I … can’t get all the way down,” he panted, voice pitched low. “Don’t know why.”

“You don’t need to,” he said reassuringly. “It’s been a while anyways, and I’d prefer you be able to talk later.”

“I’ll try again,” Geralt said. He wanted to. He wanted to figure out what the trouble was. His throat wasn’t sore, he wasn’t _too_ tired. It didn’t make sense.

“You don’t have to,” Jaskier repeated before settling back a bit.

Geralt raised his head again. “If I can’t do it, I’ll do what I was doing before,” he replied. Then, he ducked his head again, giving it another try. This time, he worked his way down slowly from the middle. It was fine until the head of Jaskier’s cock started to slip down his throat. He tried to nudge it deeper, but he had to pull away again quickly as he gagged. He coughed as he pulled off. For a moment, it felt as if his neck were being held tightly.

 _The ribbon_ , he thought.

It was ridiculous; the ribbon was loose enough for Jaskier to slip a finger underneath. But that was the reason, no denying.

Jaskier ran a hand through Geralt’s hair soothingly. “Love, you don’t need to push yourself for me.”

“I’m not,” he said. He rested, just enjoying being pet while he caught his breath again. “I just wanted to see what was wrong. I won’t be trying it again.”

Jaskier let him rest his head on his thigh. “It’s alright, love; take your time,” he said.

Geralt sighed, a smile in the corner of his mouth. He kissed Jaskier’s hip as he sat up once more. He wrapped a hand around the base of Jaskier’s cock before slipping on again: to compensate for his lacking ability. Maybe in the future, after he’d gotten used to wearing something around his throat more often, he’d try again. For now, there was plenty he could still do that Jaskier would enjoy. He thought this as he ran his tongue against the sensitive glands on the underside of Jaskier’s cock, squeezing him in hand as he did.

Jaskier whimpered softly and let his head fall back. “Fuck—fuck Geralt,” he whined softly, clutching at the sheets. The next moan that escaped him sounded familiar: it was a three note melody that Geralt remembered from their first anniversary.

Geralt was brought back to their very memorable coupling that night. He hummed the rest of the melody, his mouth still around Jaskier’s cock, and tried to remember what he’d done before to make him play such a tune on his lute. Was it a conscious choice, moaning it now, or was Jaskier really so in tune with himself that he could play something so naturally?

Jaskier tugged at his hair roughly, and spoke up. “Do you remember what you did?” he asked quickly, before humming the melody, “I can’t—it’s been in my head for years. I can’t place it exactly.”

Geralt thought harder, sucking idly as he did. Then it struck him. He gently scraped his teeth against either side as he pulled up, then let his tongue circle the head of Jaskier’s cock before he pushed back down again, pressing it from the bottom with his tongue, rubbing gently.

Jaskier clutched at his hair and moaned roughly. “Ah—fuck, yeah like that,” he whimpered softly. “So good, you’re so good.”

Geralt groaned at the sudden strength of Jaskier’s grip. Fuck, he wished he could say the same, but he was otherwise occupied. He loved when Jaskier got rough. He’d have to ask him for it more often.

“Geralt I’m gonna cum—don’t stop—don’t you dare,” he whined out, tugging at his hair desperately.

Geralt’s free hand eased up to Jaskier’s hips and he squeezed, their usual signal. He didn’t stop. As if he would ever dream of doing such a thing. Instead, he sucked harder and gave him a tight stroke with his fist.

Jaskier thrust his hips up and his movements stuttered. He cried out Geralt’s name as he came, although it sounded more like a sweet melody than a scream.

Geralt reached up onto the cart and pulled a napkin down, coughing into it. It had been too much for him tonight. He panted then stood up, leaning over Jaskier and stroking his cheek. “You sounded so beautiful just now. How do you do it?” His voice dripped with affection, and he bent lower to kiss Jaskier’s neck.

“Well. I did ask you to make me sing,” he mumbled as he pulled him into a full kiss. “You never disappoint,” he said breathlessly.

“Promise?” Geralt asked, still a little uncertain with his performance. It had been different from usual.

“Promise,” he insisted as he settled against him. “Do you want help, love?”

“I want … ” Geralt turned his head away shyly. Even after all this time, unless he was riled up, he found it difficult to ask for the things he wanted.

Jaskier hooked a finger under the ribbon and drew him in close. “Tell me exactly what you want, love.”

Geralt shivered at the contact. _“That,”_ he sighed. “More of that.”

“You want me to take charge still?” he hummed before pushing him onto his back and sitting beside him. “Will you be good for me?”

He nodded. “Will you do something else for me?” he asked. “There was another thing I wanted.”

“Of course, anything you ask,” he said warmly.

“Could you … hold my neck? Just … stroke it a bit … kiss it or bite it …” Geralt trailed.

Jaskier nodded and sat in his lap. “Sit up for me, love.”

Geralt did as Jaskier instructed, fidgeting with the sheet, rubbing it between his fingers. “Alright?” he said, unsure.

Jaskier kissed along his neck gently. “How do you want me? I can take you, or just stroke you, anything you want, love. You earned it.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head back. “Just stroke me. I want an easy night tonight. I haven’t slept well for a long time, and I’m tired. Just need to feel you awhile.”

Jaskier nodded and nipped at his neck, starting to stroke him. “I can fix that,” he hummed before hooking his free arm around his shoulders and hooking a finger in the ribbon to toy with it.

Geralt let out a shuddering breath, hips twitching involuntarily. He wished he could appreciate it more, but it was true that he was tired. He would gladly sit like this for hours if he had the energy. “C-can I lay back?” he asked. His back hurt from being hunched over so long.

“Of course, just let me move.” Jaskier pushed him back and curled up at his side. He stroked him slowly and settled against him. He kissed along his neck and hooked his finger in the ribbon again. “Better?”

Geralt sighed with appreciation. How many days had it been since he’d been in this bed proper? He’d missed it. “Much,” he said. He reached up to thread a hand through Jaskier’s hair, his other hand resting on his chest. He still felt guilty, as if he should be a more active participant, but the reality of his exhaustion had set it. His eyes drifted shut. It was still too early in the evening for sleep. He felt silly again. This time when he sighed, it was one of disappointment.

Jaskier paused, and looked up at him with a frown. “Do you want to stop?” he asked gently. “We can always just go take a bath and settle in for the night—that’s okay too,” he insisted.

Geralt grimaced. “I don’t _want_ to stop. I’ve been looking forward to this, but …” He groaned and rubbed his hands over his eyes. They felt dry. “I’ve been keeping poor hours, trying to balance everything to make it on time,” he grumbled.

“Let’s get cleaned up and settle in for the night, okay love?” Jaskier said, pulling his hand away. “It’ll be nice.”

“I wanted to spend more time with you,” Geralt complained. “I may fall asleep in the bath. It’d be just like the other night when I slept and left you alone.”

“Just hold me then,” he offered. “That’s all I really want, love.”

“Alright. But don’t try to carry me out of the tub if I fall asleep. Wake me up and make me get out myself. I don’t want you falling under my weight.”

“I can carry you,” he reminded before getting up on unsteady legs. “But that doesn’t matter, let’s go,” he hummed before grabbing another cake.

Geralt laughed. “But could you carry me, the both of us wet and slippery, with your knees week after a good suck?” he asked. He sluggishly pulled himself from the bed, leaning on Jaskier’s side for support.

“Oh, shut it,” he grumbled before slanting into him. “Do you want me to tie the braid back in?” he asked when they reached the tub.

“After, when it dries a bit. I don’t want to get the ribbon wet.”

“Can I untie it then?” he asked as he asked after he turned on the water.

“If you must,” Geralt replied, already missing it.

He kissed his cheek before gently untying it. “I need to get you something stronger to go here.” He hummed before running his hand along his neck as he pulled it back.

Geralt smiled at the touch. “Think the ribbon looks too dainty for me?” he joked.

“Oh no, I love how dainty it makes you look. But I want something I can tug,” he hummed.

Geralt sat against the side of the filling tub, his legs shaking slightly. “You should hear yourself when you say those kinds of things. It’s intoxicating. I’m too weak to be responding to it right now.”

Jaskier stepped into the tub and settled in the shallow water. “A cord would be good too, then you can stay on your knees for me,” he hummed. “I wish you could see yourself like that, so willing, and sweet for me.”

Geralt followed after, gasping at the warmth of the water, then moaning as he slipped further under. “Fuck, that’s nice,” he said. He closed his eyes and stretched out, putting his feet up on the end of the tub, his arms spread over the back.

Jaskier snuggled up with him and kissed his cheek. “I love this tub,” he hummed as he settled against him.

Geralt let his feet fall back under the water again, his toes too cold in comparison. “Every time I get in it, I want to write a thank-you note to that sorceress for the taps,” he agreed. He dropped one arm to Jaskier’s shoulder, then tucked his head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. The hot water did wonders for his stiff back. He could feel all the tension melting away as he closed his eyes.

“She’s invited to our next party as the guest of honor,” Jaskier announced. “I’m going to miss it in Cintra.”

“Fuck it; let’s take it with us. It’s the first thing we’re packing on the ship.” Geralt was far too spoiled now to leave it behind. There was nothing like a hot bath, no waiting, and no maids bustling about to fetch and carry.

“We just need the taps, right? That should be easy enough,” he said. “Any other last minute packing additions?”

“That depends on what you have to say tomorrow morning,” Geralt mumbled, sleep already beginning to claim him. He wrapped his other arm around Jaskier’s chest, cuddling against him.

“I doubt I’ll have anything else to add,” Jaskier hummed as he rested against him.

“You might.” The answer was barely there, pressed softly to the wet skin of Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he mumbled before shaking him a bit. “You’re tired.”

Geralt grunted. “Haven’t washed up,” he protested. “Just a doze.”

“Then wash up, I want to sleep,” he mumbled.

He whined, tucking his head against Jaskier’s neck. “Too tired. You do it.”

“Fine,” he grumbled before grabbing a bar of soap and sitting in his lap.

“You’re a saint,” Geralt said. He’d be sure to return the favor later.

“Mhm, you’re welcome, love,” he mumbled as he started to clean him up.

But Geralt’s guilt overwhelmed his exhaustion. He sighed after a moment and reached up to take the soap and cloth from him. He opened his eyes, much as it pained him, and started washing his own arm.

Jaskier pushed his hand away. “Stop it, I’ll do it,” he insisted as he continued.

“It’s fine,” Geralt said. Even so, he was too tired to argue. He closed his eyes again, brow creased. When he spoke next, his voice at last betrayed him, coming out low and rough. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“I know, darling. I know. I’m just not good with asking for your attention sometimes, and that’s not your fault,” he said gently.

“I wish I could at least make up for it now. I just don’t have the energy for anything.” He didn’t know how he’d managed to be so playful earlier, carrying Jaskier, rolling with him on the bed. He supposed the mistake came from lying down. He’d been running on unknown adrenaline until then, and it had all come crashing down.

Geralt opened his heavy eyes just enough to look at him. “Was it enough? At least for tonight?”

“Oh, darling, you’re always enough,” he insisted. “I just wanted to spend time with you, everything else was nice, but I don’t care much about that in comparison.”

“We’ll sleep in late,” Geralt promised. “I won’t have you wake up alone tomorrow. I wanted more time too.”

Jaskier kissed his forehead gently. “We’ll have breakfast in bed,” he added before getting up again. “But let’s get you _in_ bed first.”

Geralt pushed himself out of the tub, bracing against the sides. He groaned from the herculean effort. He fumbled for a towel and dried himself without enthusiasm, slumped over. When he was no longer dripping wet, he wrapped the towel loosely around his head and stumbled into their room again. He flopped down on top of the coverlet with a sigh he felt from the depths of his very soul.

Jaskier laid at his side and tucked himself up against him. “Good night my love,” he said softly, tucking the spare blanket up around them.

“G’night, buttercup,” Geralt replied, muffled against the sheets.


End file.
